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Birs OF Things 



PICKED UP IN LIFE'S PATHWAY. 



H. AND S. R. O. 




Concord, N. H. : 

PF^IJMTED BY EDWAf^D A. JEJMKS. 
1889. 






COPYRIGHT 

By S. R. Steer. 

1889. 



gttrirat^tr 



TO THE INNUMERABLE COMPANY OF THOSE WHO HAVE 

. f b £ b © n E s 

"OVER ON THE OTHER SHORE." 

THEY ALL HAVE FOUND THE PROMISED REST. 



" Why do we call them lost ? 
They are not lost : — 
They are within the door that shuts out loss and every hurtful thing." 



^ ^^ W^ It-^ W^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ 



^THESE poems and selections were gathered from various 
sources, and where it has been possible to do so the names 
of the authors have been appended. Many of them, however, are 
mere waifs, taken from discarded magazines and old newspapers, 
and which were culled by my mother and myself, as we read and 
talked together, while the years were passing by. 



S, R. S. 



Cincinnati, Ohio. 




Contents 



The Years God Keepeth i 

Mona's Song 3 

Under the Leaves 4 

Tired 6 

Sonnet 7 

Extract from Rachel's Secret 8 

Let Your Light Shine ii 

Love 13 

The Autumn of Life 15 

A Little Talk with Jesus 18 

Without and Within 19 

The Burial of Moses 20 

A Gem from Whittier 23 

Make a Little Fence of Trust 24 

Draxy's Hymn 25 

Only a Little Way 26 

Jesus Knows 28 

The Valley of Shadows 29 

Extract from a Prayer 32 

The Loom of Life 33 

Far Away 34 

A Fragment 36 

War on Christian Principles . . - yj 

Cardiphonia 40 

A Scrap 43 

But Why Not Now? ; 44 



Vlll CONTENTS 

Brother and Sister 51 

The Four Anchors 53 

The Golden Robin's Nest 55 

The Refuge 57 

Find Him 58 

Loving and Faithful 60 

A Song of the Burden-Bearer 65 

Sunset on the Bearcamp 68 

A Little Lamb Astray 71 

The Three Bidders 74 

Jane Conquest 79 

Six and Seven 89 

Beautiful Hands 92 

How do I love Thee ? 93 

A Wondetful Baby 94 

So Tired 95 

Secret Communion 97 

Fall's First Trophies 98 

Stanza of Hymn 99 

A Song of Expectation 100 

Under Orders loi 

" Not a Speck on My Brow " 103 

Faultless 104 

Nonquit 107 

All are not taken 109 

My School no 

A Glove "2 

The Secret 113 

The Intercessor IH 

"Theo" 116 

To the Memory of Grace C. Mellen 119 

To a Little Child 120 

To Mary on her Twelfth Birthday 122 



CONTENTS IX 

Sister 12-^ 

My Bird 124 

Heaven j2c 

Song of the Sparrow 127 

The Pitman to his Wife 129 

A Farewell j^^ 

Motto in a Wedding Ring i-.^ 

Walking in White j-^6 

Glorified i^g 

Lines Written in Grief 140 

His Blessed Angel, Sorrow 141 

Regret 142 

The Christian Mariner 144 

The Story of Sir Arnulph 14^ 

Legend of the Beautiful Hands 148 

Fragment 14^ 

Thy Loving Kindness 1^0 

152 



Why? 



Life Ideals i^^ 

The Children 154 

She and I jgr 

Here and There 15^ 

Life and Death jgo 

Lay of a Silver Bridal . 171 

After ! ! ! ! 177 

Smgers of the Mystic Clime 178 

I^yi»g 179 

Are the Children at Home ? 180 

My Bridge ' '. 183 

Old Age J83 

After Death in Arabia 185 

A Fragment jgg 

Good-Bye jgg 



THREADS OF GOLD 



^^^reads of dold. 



THE YEARS GOD KEEPETH. 

Rosa Evajigeline Angel. 

|\ YEARS beyond the summer sky, 
2/ Beyond the harvest moon, 
What gifts within your circles lie? 
What gracious, heavenly boon ? 

Beneath the snows of winter long, 

What buds of promise swell? 
Within the happy springtime song, 

What hopes of summer dwell? 

O years beyond my seeking sight. 

Ye linger in God's hand ; 
He knows what day will bring, and night 

Is day, in God's dear land ! 

And though the shadows fall and cling 

Around my earthly way. 
Yet will my heart still trustful sing. 

Since God can send the dav. 



THREADS OF GOLD 

Do tear-drops fall for May's white bloom 

When harvest blushes red? 
And who remembers winter's gloom 

When June her roses spread? 

O hidden years, or good or ill 

Be what ye hold in store ; 
Yet will our God His word fulfil — 

True this day as of yore. 

Faithful from all eternity, 

Shall now His promise fail? 
Why should thy heart, then, faithless be, 

Or fear thy forehead pale ? 

O years beyond the summer sky. 

Your burdens He will bear ; 
So shall I neither faint nor die — 

He maketh me His care. 

And o'er the graves of love and hope 

Shall tender blossoms creep ; 
And sweetly on the grass-green slope 

My darlings soft shall sleep. 

And faith with folded wings shall wait, 

And love shall walk beside. 
And Christ hath opened death's dark gate 
" I shall be satisfied ! " 



BITS OF THINGS 

O unknown years ! ye hold no fear, 

Since love is all mine own ; 
As day by day He grows more dear. 

I cannot be alone. 

Keep close your secret ; I would know 
Naught but the dear Christ's word : 
"Fear not, for I am with thee ; lo, 
Let not thy heart be stirred 

" By doubt or trouble ; thou art Mine, 
Mine through all ages, sealed 
With Mine own blood !" O heart ! be thine 
His peace through love revealed. 



MONA'S SONG. 

LL day yesterday, as I spun, 
The knots came into my thread ; 
And the sound of my wheel went " Hum-a-drum,' 
"Hum-a-drum" — in my head. 

When I. milked, last night, my cows, and sung 

Of the maiden "all forlorn" — 
While the moon came up, a little star 

Leading by the horn, — 



THREADS OF GOLD 



I heard a leaping over the stile, 

And a whistle blithe and gay : 
The tame doves knew him, my lad, my love, 

And flew up out of his way ! 

I knew 't was a tenderness for me 

That made him save the moth 
That had dropped into my milking-pail, 

And was drowning in the froth. 

And when I saw the ripple of red 

Over his cheek that stole, 
I knew the golden jewel of Love 

Was sinking in his soul ! 

Not once have I stopped, as I spun to-day, 

To pull a knot apart ! 
The sound of my wheel goes "Marry me," 

" Marry me" — in my heart. 



UNDER THE LEAVES. 

>|^HICK green leaves from the soft brown earth- 
1 Happy springtime hath called them forth ; 
First faint promise of summer bloom 
Breathes from the fragrance of sweet perfume 
Under the leaves. 



BITS OF THINGS 

Lift them ! What marvellous beauty lies 
Hidden beneath from our thoughtless eyes! 
Mayflowers, rosy or purest white, 
Lift their cups to the sudden light, 
Under the leaves. 

Are there no lives whose holy deeds, 
Seen by no eye save His who reads 
Motive and action, in silence grow 
Into rare beauty, and bud and blow, ^ 
Under the leaves ? 

Fair white flowers of faith and trust 
Springing from spirits bruised and crushed? 
Blossoms of love, rose-tinted and bright. 
Touched and painted with heaven's own light, 
Under the leaves ? 

Full fresh clusters of duty borne, 
Fairest of all in that shadow grown? — 
Wondrous the fragrance that sweet and rare 
Comes from the flower-cups hidden there 
Under the leaves. 

Though unseen by our vision dim, 
Bud- and blossom are known to Him. 
Wait we content for His heavenly ray, — 
Wait till the Master Himself some day 
Lifteth the leaves. 



THREADS OF GOLD 



TIRED. 

fIRED, tired, by the wayside 
Sit I down to weep, — 
And life's hill before me 

Seemeth so bare and steep ; — 
Weary of looking backward ; 

Weary of looking on ; 
Weary of calling for voices 

That I cannot think are gone. 
Tired, tired ! 

Tones of the living dear ones 

Unto my spirit's cry 
Give me answer coldly, 

And I know not why. 
Songs of the blessed angels 

Treading the shores unknown 
Are sounding to-night so faintly — 

Oh ! I have weary grown. 

Tired, tired ! 

Sometimes my soul can hear them, 
Singing so softly near ; 

Qiiickly I hasten forward, 

Full of glad hope and cheer ; — 



BITS OF THINGS 

But coldly the world's din rises, 
Drowning the angels' song. 

Father ! I 'm very weary : 

Oh ! let me rest ere long. 

Tired, tired ! 



SONNET. 

Joseph Blanco White. 

YSTERIOUS Night! When our first parent 

knew 
Thee from report divine, and heard thy name. 
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame. 

This glorious canopy of light and blue? 

Yet, 'neath a curtain of translucent dew. 

Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, 
Hesperus with the host of heaven came, 

And lo ! creation widened in man's view. 

Who could have thought such darkness lay con- 
cealed 
Within thy beams, O Sun ? — or who could find, 

Whils.t sky and leaf and insect stood revealed, 

That to such countless orbs thou mad'st us blind? 

Why do we thus shun death with anxious strife? 

If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life? 



5 THREADS OF GOLD 

EXTRACT FROM "RACHEL'S SECRET." 

BEING AN ADMIRABLE PORTRAITURE OF FAITH AND 
FIDELITY. 

§ANDY was by no means a contemptible compan- 
ion when he was once wound up and fairly set 
agoing. There was originality and homely humor 
about him, though how he came by it some might won- 
der, seeing that for the last five and fifty years — as he 
was fond of telling — he had never slept a night out of 
the old stone cottage in which he was born, so that the 
horizon of his life had been none of the widest. 

" Fifty-five years, Sandy ! " echoed Dunstan. " That 's 
a long time, Sandy : there are not many men can say 
as much." Sandy perked up at the implied compli- 
ment. 

"Ay, sir, it's a longtime to look forrard to, but it's 
none so much to look back on. When I got wxd an' 
sattled doon, wi' my wife, in t' place that had been ni}^ 
father's before me, I should ha' wearied at the thought 
o' stopping there mekin' b^'ooms t' end o' my days, 
but noo that it lies aback o' me, it seems nobbut a 
step or two that I 've gone." 

" But its dull work, Sandy, is n't it, making brooms 
year after year, from Monday morning to Saturday 
night.?" 



BITS OF THINGS 9 

'' Nay, sir, I can't say as it is. You see I brhtgs 
my mi7td to it, an' that meks it easy. An' then 
there's Sundays comes an' meks a change, an'I's 
allays h'ght'n on summit in t' Bible as gives me a lift," 
and Sandy hitched his chair a little forward and looked 
up, as if he had something coming that he would like 
to say. " Noo there was t' other Sunday I come over 
here to church, and there was the parson a preach'n 
away, an' all t' folks set a lookin' at him an' takin' of 
it in, forbys two or three on 'em that I seed asleep. 
'An', says he, ' we mun all receive o' the deeds dun 
i' th' body : it's all writ down,' says he, ' what wiv 
been agat on do'n' here.' An', thinks I, it'll cut nob- 
but a poorish hgur', I doubt, when t' angel above sets 
down in t' book that Sand\^ Kays had med so many 
b7'oo7ns that week and done nowt else." Duiistan 
smiled, and Sandy went on : " Weel, an' thin when I 
gets home, an' sets me doon to read, there was that 
piece in the Bible about yon time when there wanted 
a bit o' floorin mended in the Lord's house, an' the 
book sed as the men did the work faithful. An' 
thinks I, if the Lord thought it worth while having 
that set doon, so as wherever t' Bible goes folks may 
hear tell" on 't, 's like as not He '11 have t' angels put 
doon in His Book above as Sandy Kays med so meny 
brooms a' week, an' med 'em well, too." I would n't 
like it to owt else, you know. Here 's t' missus '11 



lO THREADS OF GOLD 

say as it 's alius a karakter for a broom if Sandy Kavs 
med it." 

"It is, indeed, Sandy," said Mrs. Doyle. "There's 
a deal of folks hereabouts would miss your good 
brooms if you was gone." 

" I doubt they would," said Sandy, shaking his 
head with a mingled expression of satisfaction and 
perplexity. " It's a thing as alius troubles me when I 
studies it over, where them as I 've served with brooms 
so long ud look, to get 'em as good. It 's th' only 
thing as sattles me, when I lies wakin' o' nights an' 
thinkin o' Esther an' t' bairns, that 's all been took 
afore me, I could almost be fit t' ax t' Lord to let me 
fa' asleep an' wake up wi' 'em." 

"Ay, it's like to be lonesome for you, Sandy, now 
Esther's gone," said Mrs. Doyle, with a touc4i of 
compassion in her voice. "I don't wonder you miss 
her, so many years as you 've been together." 

" Five an' forty years," said the old man, absently ; 
"an' te)i years come Christmas it '11 be sin' I brought 
her to Glinton church-yard ; — but them that has nawt 
but death between 'em is n't so very far apart. It 's 
nobbut waitin' a bit, an' I shall go to her, though she '11 
never come back to me. She 's been a lookin' out for 
me sin' ever she went. It would na' be like her to be 
enjoyin' herself up there an' never givin' a tho't to me. 
An' the Lord lets me see her, now an' agin, tho' 



BITS OF THINGS II 

't isn't wi' wakin' eyes. He thinks mebby I'd forget 
the looks o' her if He didn't. Last time was a bit 
afore Easter, 'An', ses she, ' I'm beginnin' to think it 
long o' you. Sandy,' ses she. ' You 're past seventy 
by a good bit ; I tho't you 'd a' been here afore 
noo,' ses she ; ' th' Lord 's a' keep'n you a long time 
at them brooms, Sandy,' ses she. 'Never heed, 
honey,' ses I, ' it '11 a' be right ; He '11 mek it up to us 
w^hen the time comes, honey,' ses I ; — an' He w^ill, too, 
I know ; I 've no fears on Him." 



LET YOUR LIGHT SHINE. 

|\FF the western coast of Scotland 
t) Lie the beauteous Hebrides — 
Skye, Lewis, Uist, lona. Mull — 

And many more than these. — 
An outer and an inner group 

Amid the stormy seas. 

Among these western islands 
There is one, the sailors say, 

Approached more easily by night 
Than in the calmest day ; 

For then the tidal wave sets in 
With less capricious play. 



12 THREADS OF GOLD 

Yet beams thereon no Eddystone 
Its faithful watch to keep ; 

And many a gallant vessel's crew, 
Who dared the dangerous deep, 

Have gone down in the midnight storm 
To sleep a dreamless sleep. 

One widow's lowly cottage 

Stands near that wave-washed shore. 
The lamplight from whose widow-pane 

Looks out the waters o'er ; — 
For there her husband used to sail : 

He went, but came no more ! 

So night by night this widow, 
Within her window-pane. 

Lights up her little lamp to cheer 
Poor sailors on the main. 

It gives, indeed, a feeble light. 
But gives it not in vain. 

Storm-tossed on Minsh's waters, 

In danger's starless night. 
Ten thousand have this widow blessed 

For that meek cottage light 
Which nightly from her window-pane 

Shines steady, calm, and bright. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 3 

That lowly light, they tell us, 

Has saved a thousand lives, — 
Has saved from tears and widow^hood 

A hundred loving wives. 
And still that cottage lamp burns on ! 

That widow still survives ! 

Go, Christian ! learn the lesson, 

Whate'er thy station be ; 
Go ! let thy lamp be lighted up ! 

There's sorrow on life's sea ; 
Ten thousand souls may yet be lost 

Forever — but for thee ! 



LOVE. 



DO not ask it thee. That is not love 
That waits to be entreated ; love is free 
As God's own life, and of itself doth move. 
Should I say, " Love me".'^ Rather let me prove 

Myself to be love-worthy ; then let be. 

And yet what wretched shams our sad eyes see ! 

" I love my Love because my Love loves me." 
Oh, pitiful ! Hast thou no gauge above 

Another's thought by which to rate thine own .^ 



4 THREADS OF GOLD 

No worthier trust nor surer corner-stone 
To build thy temple of sweet hopes upon? 
God help thee at thy need, and give thee strength 
To bear the shock of trial, when at length 

Thine hour shall write thee desolate and undone ! 

Sitting in this sweet stillness all alone, 

I thank my God that, with mine eyes upon 

His'holy stars, I can say, reverently, 

"•I love my Love because in him I see 

Great nobleness, worthy of all love ; 

A soul all meannesses and feints above ; 

A manly front that dares to face the Right ; 

That, shouldering Truth, stands ready for the fight, 

And following Duty, walks in her sweet light." 

ye glad stars, that overspread the night, 

1 cannot see you for these happy tears. 

Yet know you shining still. So Love appears. 
I cannot pierce these misty, human years 
That hide God's great hereafter, yet I know 
My Love still shining there, as here below, 
Only with purer, more ecstatic glow. 

For is not Love immortal? Stars shall fall. 
And the weird music of the jostling spheres 

Crash into silence. Love, my love, o'er all 
Shall throb its calm, grand pcean undismayed, — 



BITS OF THINGS 1 5 

By nothing daunted, and of naught afraid, 
Though old worlds crumble, or though new be made. 

Yet I am human. Father, help me, lest 

Mid earth's defilements I should bear unblest 

The large contentment of my life's sweet lot, 

And in the gift, the Giver be forgot. 

Whose name is Love — without whom Love is not. 

Of Thine own fulness. Thine own strength bestow ; 

So, leaning ever on Thy gracious breast. 

Keeping my life's love sacred as a guest 

That shall shine on forever — nay, as part 

Of my own soul, immortal as the rest — 

I shall not need to pass the veil in quest 

Of Thee and Thy dear angels, but shall know 

My heaven on earth, my bliss begun below. 

Amen, my heart replies — "Amen, 'tis even so." 



THE AUTUMN OF LIFE. 

fLING down the faded blossoms of the spring. 
Nor clasp the roses with regretful hand ; 
The joy of summer is a vanished thing ; 
Let it depart, and learn to understand 
The gladness of great calm, the autumn rest ; 
The peace — of human joys the latest and the best ! 



1 6 THREADS OF GOLD 

Ah ! I remember how in early days 

The primrose and the wild-flower grew beside 

My tangled desert paths, whose devious ways 
Filled we with joy of mysteries untried ; 

And terror, that was more than half delight, 

And sense of budding life and longings infinite. 

And I remember how in life's hot noon 
Around my path the lavish roses shed 

Color and fragrance, and the air of June 

Breathed rapture. Now those summer days are 
fled— 

Days of sweet peril, when the serpent lay 

In every devious turn of life's enchanted way ! 

The light of spring, the summer glow, are o'er, 
And I rejoice in knowing that for me 

The woodbine and the roses bloom no more. 
The tender green is gone from leaf and tree ; 

Brown, barren sprays stand close against the blue, 

And leaves fall fast and let the truthful sunlight 
through. 

For me the hooded herbs of autumn grow, 

Square-stemmed and sober tinted, — mint and 
.sage, 

Hoarhound and balm, — such plants as healers know, 
And the decline of life's long pilgrimage 



BITS OF THINGS 1 7 

Is soft and sweet with marjoram and thj^me, 

Bright with pure evening dew— not serpents' glit- 
tering sh'me ! 

And round my path the aromatic air 

Breathes health and perfume, and the turf}^ 
ground 
Is soft for weary feet, and smooth and fair,— 

With h'ttle thornless blossoms, that abound 
In safe, dry places, where the mountain-side 
Lies to the setting sun,— and no ill beast can hide ! 

What is there to regret? Why should I mourn 
To leave the forest and the marsh behind? 

Or tow^ard the rank, low meadows sadly turn, 
Since here another loveliness I find. 

Safer, and not less beautiful, and blest 

With glimpses, faint and far, of the long-wished- 
for rest? 

Is it an evil to be drawing near 

The time when I shall know as I am known? 
Is it an evil that the sky grows clear, 

That sunset light upon my path is thrown? 
That truth grows fairer, that temptations cease, 
And that I see afar a path that leads to peace? 



l8 THREADS OF GOLD 

Is it not joy to feel the lapsing years 

Calm down one's spirit? — as at eventide, 

After long storm, the far horizon clears, 

The skies shine golden, and the stars subside : 

Stern outlines soften in the sunlit air, — 

And still, as day declines, the restful earth grows 
fair. 

And so I drop the roses from my hand, 

And let the thorn-pricks heal, and take my way 

Down hill, across a fair and peaceful land, 
Lapt in the golden calm of dying day ; 

Glad that the night is near, and g-lad to know 

That, rough or smooth the way, I have not far 
to go. 



^ LITTLE talk with Jesus, how it smooths the 

^ rugged road ! 

How it seems to help me onward when I faint 

beneath my load ! 
When my heart is crushed with sorrow and my 

eyes with tears are dim, 
There's nothing yields such comfort as a little 

talk with Him. 



BITS OF THINGS 



19 



WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 

Abba Goold Woolson. 

WALKED ankle deep in the new-fallen snow, 
And stood in amaze on the wold, 
To hear how a bird from a desolate bouofh 

Was singing in spite of the cold ; — 
Little thought of the wind or the weather had he, 
For it seemed that his bosom was bursting with 
glee. 

No midsummer carol was ever so sweet. 
With swells and with jubilant closes : 

I thought, while he sang, there was grass at my feet, 
And the hedges were crimson with roses ; 

When I had but to turn from my wonder to see 

White gusts of the tempest sweep over the lea. 

The faster the wind whirled the eddying snow, 
The louder he sang through the storm ; 

No touch of the shivering blast did he know. 
For his rapture was keeping him warm. 

O brave little bird on the desolate tree. 

Didst thou know that my heart sang a paean with 
thee? 



20 THREADS OF GOLD 

THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 

Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. 

§Y Nebo's lonely mountain, 
On this side Jordan's wave, 
In a vale in the land of Moab, 

There lies a lonely grave ; 
But no man built that sepulchre, 

And no man saw it e'er ; 
For the angels of God upturned the sod. 
And laid the dead man there. 

That was the grandest funeral 

That ever passed on earth ; 
Yet no man heard the trampling. 

Or saw the train go forth 
Noiselessly as the daylight 

Comes when the night is done. 
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek 

Grows into the great sun. 

Noiselessly as the springtime 

Her crown of verdure weaves. 
And all the trees on all the hills 

Unfold their thousand leaves, — 



BITS OF THINGS 21 

So, without sound of music 

Or voice of them that wept, 
Silently down from the mountain's crown 

The great procession swept. 



Perchance the bald old eagle 

On gray Beth-Peor's height, 
Out of his rocky eyrie 

Looked on the wondrous sight ! 
Perchance the lion, stalking. 

Still shuns that hallowed spot, — 
For beast and bird have seen and heard 

That which man knoweth not. 

But when the warrior dieth, 

His comrades of the war. 
With arms reversed and muffled drums, 

Follow the funeral car : 
They show the banners taken ; 

They tell his battles won ; 
And after him lead his masterless steed, 

While peals the minute-gun. 

Amid the noblest of the land 

Men lay the sage to rest. 
And give the bard an honored place. 

With costly marbles drest, 



22 THREADS OF GOLD 

In the great minster transept 

Where hghts like glories fall, 
And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings 

Along the emblazoned wall. 

This was the bravest warrior 

That ever buckled sword ; 
This the most gifted poet 

That ever breathed a word ; 
And never earth's philosopher 

Traced with his golden pen. 
On the deathless page, truths half so sage, 

As he wrote down for men. 

And had he not high honor? — 

The hillside for a pall ! 
To lie in state while angels wait, 

With stars for tapers tall ! 
And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes, 

Over his bier to wave. 
And God's own hand, in that lonely land. 

To lay him in his'grave ! — 

In that strange grave, without a name, 

Whence his uncoffined clay 
Shall break again — O wondrous thought ! — 

Before the judgment day. 



BITS OF THINGS 23 

And stand with glory wrapped around 

On the hills he never trod, 
And speak of the strife that won our life 

With the Incarnate Son of God. 

O lonely tomb in Moab's land ! 

O dark Beth-Peor's hill ! 
Speak to these curious hearts of ours, 

And teach them to be still : 
God hath His mysteries of grace, — 

Ways that we cannot tell ; 
He hides them deep, like the secret sleep 

Of him He loved so well. 



A GEM FROM WHITTIER. 

To appreciate the truth and beauty of the follow- 
ing lines from the pen of Whittier, it is necessary to 
know the circumstances under which they were writ- 
ten. A friend of Whittier's youth, who spent most 
of his life on the Illinois prairies, called on the poet at 
his home in Amesbury, and together they recalled the 
scenes of their childhood, and briefly recounted the 
course of their after lives. Whittier seemed much affect- 
ed by the allusions of his friend to his prairie home, 
where a wife, children, and grandchild, " Constance," 



24 THREADS OF GOLD 

awaited his return ; and, on being asked for his auto- 
graph, replied, — " Call on your way to the cars, and 
I will hand it to you." The friend called and received 
this. The lines show tlie delicate texture of the poet's 
heart, the tendrils of which were stretchinsf after 
something beyond his reach. 



*fc3 



^HE years that, since we met, have flown, 
Ir Leave as they found me — still alone ; 
Nor wife, nor child, nor grandchild dear, 
Are mine, the heart of age to cheer. 
More favored, thou, with hair less gray 
Than mine, canst let thy fancy stray 
To where thy little Constance sees 
The prairie ripple in the breeze. 
For one like her to lisp my name, 
^Were better than the voice oi fame. 



AKE a little fence of trust 
Around to-day ; 
Fill the space with loving work, 

And therein stay. 
Look not through the sheltering bars 

At to-morrow ; 
God will help in all that comes, 

Of joy or sorrow. 



BITS OF THINGS 25 

DRAXY'S HYMN. 

Saxe Holme (Scribner, June, 1872.) 

CANNOT think but God must know 

About the thing I long for so ; 
I know He is so good and kind, 
I cannot think but He will find 
Some way to help, some way to show 
Me to the thing I long for so. 

I stretch my hand — it lies so near ! 

It looks so sweet — it looks so dear ! 

" Dear Lord," I pray, *' oh ! let me know 

If it is wrong to want it so ! " 

He only smiles — He does not speak ; 

My heart grows weaker, and more weak, • 

With looking at the thing so dear. 

Which lies so far, and yet so near ! 

Now, Lord, I leave at Thy loved feet 
This thing which looks so near, so sweet ; 
I will not seek — I will not long ; 
I almost fear I have been wrong. 
I '11 .go and work the harder. Lord, 
And wait till by some loud, clear word 
Thou callest me to Thy loved feet. 
To take the thing so dear, so sweet. 



26 THREADS OF GOLD 



ONLY A LITTLE WAY. 

gr LITTLE way !— I know it is not far 
5[ To that dear home where my beloved are ; 
And yet, my faith grows weaker as I stand, 
A poor, lone pilgrim, in a dreary land 
Where present pain the futm'e bliss obscures. 
And yet my heart sits like a bird upon 
The empty nest, and mourns its treasures gone- 
Plumed for their flight, 
And vanished quite. 
Ah me ! where is the comfort? — though I say 
They have but journeyed on a little way ! 

A little way ! — at times they seem so near 
Their voices ever murmur at my ear ; 
To all my duties loving presence lend, 
And with sweet ministry my steps attend. 
And bring my soul the luxury of tears. 
'T was here we met, and parted company ; 
Why should their gain be such a grief to me.^* 

This sense of loss ! 

This heavy cross ! 
Dear Saviour, take the burden off, I pray. 
And show me heaven is but a little way ! 



BITS OF THINGS 27 

These sombre robes, these saddened faces, all 
The bitterness and pain of death recall. 
Ah ! let me turn my face wliere'er I may, 
I see the traces of a sure decay ; 
And parting takes the marrow out of life. 
Secure in bliss, we hold the golden chain 
Which death, with scarce a warning, snaps in 
twain ; 

And nevermore 

Shall time restore 
The broken links ; — 't was only yesterday 
They vanished from our^ight a little way. 

A little way ! — this sentence I repeat, 

Hoping and longing to extract some sweet 

To mingle with the bitter. From Thy hand 

I take the cup I cannot understand, 

And in my sorrow give myself to Thee ! 

Although it seems so very, very far 

To that dear home where my beloved are, 

I know — I know 

It is not so. 
Oh ! give me faith to feel it, when I say 
That they are gone — gone but a little way. 



28 THREADS OF GOLD 



JESUS KNOWS. 

CANNOT understand, when o'er time's ocean 
My life bark sailed, 
Why tempests came, and why, in dim confusion, 

My way seemed veiled. 
The reasons are not very clear to my weak vision : 

I look in vain 
For that fair port and for those fields Elysian 

I thought to gain. 
But this is plain : God saw it best, and therefore 

The storm arose ; * 
And though I cannot see the why and wherefore, 

Yet Jesus knows. 

I cannot tell why, when the day seemed clearest, 

Dark clouds should lower ; 
Or why the hopes that my fond heart held dearest 

Failed in that hour. 
I know not why the morning's glorious shining 

Was veiled ere noon. 
Or why the fragrant garlands love was twining 

Should fade so soon. 
But this I know, — though God His whys and 
wherefores 

Does not disclose, 



BITS OF THINGS 29 

His purposes are ever best, — and therefore 
My Jesus knows. 

I know not now, but Jesus knows, why shadows 

Shut out the light ; 
Why treasures we deemed deathless felt so soon 

The touch of blight ; 
Why hearts we leaned our own against, believing 

That truth held sway, 
Crushed our fond, trusting love with drear deceiving, 

Darkening our way. 
I ciinnot tell ; but God the why and wherefore 

May yet disclose. 
He doeth all things well ; and therefore 

My Jesus knows. 



THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS. 

Ma7-garet J. Pi'eston, 

WAS sitting in my study one evening, when a 
message came to me that one of the godliest 
among the shepherds, w^ho. tended their flocks upon 
the slopes of our highland hills, was dying, and 
wanted to see the minister. Without loss of time I 
crossed the wide heath to his comfortable little home. 



30 THREADS OF GOLD 

When I entered the low room, I found the old shep- 
herd propped up with pillows, and breathing with 
such difficulty that it was apparent he was near his 
end. 

"Jean," he said, " gi'e the minister a stool, an' 
leave us for a bit, for I wad see the minister alone." 

As soon as the door closed, he turned the most 
pathetic pair of gray eyes upon me I had ever looked 
into, and said, in a voice shaken with emotion, — 
" Minister, I 'm dying, and — and — I 'm afraid ! " 
I began at once to repeat some of the strongest 
promises in the Bible ; but in the midst of it he 
stopped me. 

" I ken them a', but somehow they dinna gi'e com- 
fort." 

" Do you believe in them } " 
" Wi' a' my heart," he replied earnestly. 
"Where, then, is any room for fear.?" 
" For a' that, minister. I 'm afraid — I 'm afraid ! " 
I took up the well worn Bible which lay on his 
bed. "You remember the twenty-third Psalm.?" 
And I began to read. 

" Remember it? " he said, " I kenned in long afore 
ve were born ; ye need na read it. I 've conned it a 
thousand times on the hill-side." 

" But there is one verse you have not taken in." 
He turned upon me with a half reproachful and 



BITS OF THINGS 3 1 

even stern look. '' Did I not tell ye I kenned it, every 
word, lang afore ye w^ere born ? " 

I slowly repeated the verse — "'Though I walk 
through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear 
no evil, for Thou art with me.' You have been a 
shepherd all your life, and you have watched the 
heavy shadows pass over the hills, hiding for a little 
while all the light of the sun. Did those shadows 
ever frighten you ? " 

" Frighten me ! " he said quickly. " Na, na ! Dave 
Donaldson has Covenanter's bluid in his veins ; nei- 
ther shadow nor substance could weel frighten him." 

"But did those shadows never make you believe 
you would never see the sun again — that it was gone 
forever } " 

" Na, na ! I cud na be sic a simpleton as that." 

"Nevertheless, that is just what you are doing 
now." He looked at me with incredulous eyes. 
"Yes," I continued, "the shadow of death is over 
you, and it hides for a little time the Sun of Right- 
eousness, which shines all the same behind; but it's 
only a shadow — remember that's what the Psalmist 
calls it — ' a shadow that will pass ; ' and when it has 
passed, before you will be the everlasting hills, in 
their unclouded glory. 

The old shepherd covered his face with his hands, 
and for a few minutes maintained unbroken silence ; 



32 THREADS OF GOLD 

then he said, as if musing to himself, — " Aweel, 
aweel ! I 've conned that verse a thousand times 
amang th' heather, and I never understood it afore — 
afraid of a shadow ! " Then turning upon me a face 
now bright with ahnost supernatural radiance, he 
exclaimed, — "Aye, aye, I see it a' noo ! Death is 
only a shadow — a shadow wi' Christ behind it — a 
shadow that will pass. Na, na, I 'm afraid nae mair." 



EXTRACT FROM A PRAYER. 

C. H. Spurgeon. 

fOME in, O strong and deep love of Jesus, like 
the sea at the flood in spring tides ; — cover all 
mv powers ; drown all my sins ; wash out all my 
cares ; lift up my earth-bound soul, and float it right 
up to my Lord's feet ; and there let me lie, a poor, 
broken shell, washed up by His love, having no 
virtue or value, — only venturing to whisper to Him 
that if He will put His ear to me. He shall hear 
within my heart faint echoes of the waves of His own 
love, which have brought me where it is my delight 
to lie — even at His blessed feet forever. 



BITS OF THINGS 33 

THE LOOM OF LIFE. 

Eben E. Rexford. 

^ LL day — all night — I can hear the jar 
5^ Of the loom of life ; and near and far 
It thrills with its deep and muffled sound, 
As the tireless wheels go round and round. 

Busily, ceaselessly goes the loom 
In the light of day, and in midnight's gloom ; 
The wheels are turning early and late, 
And the woof is wound in the warp of fate. 

Click-clack ! there 's a thread of love wove in ; 
Click-clack ! another — of wrong and sin ; 
What a checkered thing this life-web will be. 
When we see it unrolled in eternity ! 

Time, with his face like a mystery. 

And hands as busy as hands can be, 

Sits at the loom with his warp outspread, 

To catch in its meshes each glancing thread. 

When shall this wonderful web be done } 

In a thousand years, perhaps in one, 

Or to-morrow. Who knoweth ? Not you nor I, 

But the wheels turn on, and the shuttles fly. 



34 THREADS OF GOLD 

Ah ! sad-eyed weaver, the years are slow, 
But each one is nearer the end, I know, 
And each day a thread must be woven in : 
God grant it be love instead of sin. 

Are we spinners of time, for this life-web — say? 
Do we furnish the weaver a thread each day? 
It were better by far, O friends, to spin 
A beautiful thread of love than of sin. 



FAR AWAY. 

." The land that is very far off." — IsA. xxxiii : 17. 

^IJPON the shore 

(^l Of evermore, 
We sport like children at their play, 

And gather shells 

Where sinks and swells 
The mighty sea from far away. 

Upon that beach 

Nor voice nor speech 
Doth things intelligible say, 

But through our souls 

A whisper rolls 
That comes to us from far away. 



BITS OF THINGS 35 

Into our ears 

The voice of years 
Comes deeper, deeper, day by day : 

We stoop to hear. 

As it draws near, 
Its messages from far away. 

At what it tells 

We drop the shells 
We were so full of yesterday. 

And pick no more 

Upon that shore. 
But dream of brighter, far away. 

And o'er that tide. 

Far out and wide. 
The yearnings of our souls do stray ; 

We long to go, 

We do not know 
Where it may be, but far away. 

The mighty deep 

Doth slowly creep 
Upon the shore where we did play ; 

The very sand 

Where we did stand 
A moment since, — swept far away. 



THREADS OF GOLD 

Our playmates all, 

Beyond our call, 
Are passing hence, as we, too, may, 

Unto that shore 

Of evermore, 
Beyond the boundless far away. 

We '11 trust the wave, 

And Him to save, 
Beneath whose feet as marble lay 

The rolling deep. 

For He can keep 
Our souls in that dim far away. 



A FRAGMENT. 

§E happy now. 
For now the joy of life is thine ! 
And Pleasure, in her rich array. 
Comes smiling o'er her sunny way 
With gay delight ; 
And every flower that blooms 
Doth seem to bloom for thee. 
Thy mates are 
Joy and purity 

From hour to hour ! 



BITS OF THINGS 37 

WAR ON CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLES. 

From the " Wheat-Sheaf.^'' 

§NE of the conditions of the treaty with Mexico, it 
is said, is that any future war which may break 
out between the two countries shall be conducted on 
Christian principles. Now we all know that this is 
an age of progress, and that all sorts of improvements 
are constantly taking place in all sorts of matters ; 
but war on Christian principles is certainly the 
latest, and, if it be carried out, we think it will prove 
the greatest of all. 

Just imagine it! We seem to see two armies-draw 
out in battle array. A fair field is before them. The 
ranks are formed, the positions are taken, the great 
guns are unlimbered. Gen. Scott is just about to 
give the command to fire, when an aide comes up and 
respectfully reminds him that " war is to be conduct- 
ed on Christian principles," and that it will not do 
to fire. 

" Very true, very true," says the commander-in- 
chief; "but what are they? I have studied Vau- 
ban, and Schilder, and Turenne, and Coehorn. I 
have read the lives of the old conquerors, and have 
studied the campaigns of the greatest soldiers, but I 
never happened to come across these principles in any 



S8 THREADS OF GOLD 

work upon military art. Do you know anything 
about it, colonel?" 

" No." 

' ' Nor you major .^" 

" Nor I, either." 

" I really do n't know how to begin. I suppose it 
would not do to shoot. Suppose we send for the 
chaplain." 

The chaplain arrives. " Do you know anything 
about this fighting on Christian principles.^" 

" Oh, yes ; it is the easiest thing in the world." 

" Where are the books. ^" 

" Here," and the chaplain takes out a Bible. 

" Really," says the general, " we ought to have 
thought of this before. It is a bad time to study 
tactics when the enemy is right before us ; but I 
suppose we are bound by the treaty. What is the 
first thing, Mr. Chaplain.?" 

" Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt love thy neigh- 
bor as thyself." 

"But these are not neighbors. They are, Mexi- 
cans." 

"The same Book tells us, a little further on, that 
the opportunity to do good to a man makes him our 
neighbor." 

" Will you go on, Mr. Chaplain.?" 

" Love your enemies. Do good to them that hate 



BITS OF THINGS 



39 



you. Pray for them that despitefully use you. If a 
man smite you on one cheek, turn to him the other." 

" But while we are praying for the Mexicans, they 
will be firing into us." 

" No, they are bound by the treaty also. It works 
both ways." 

" Then what is the use of our arms } " 

" This is also provided for in the same Book. 
Beat your swords into ploughshares, and your 
spears into pruning-hooks." 

"Then I do n't see as there is anything for us to 
do here." 

" Nothing, unless you send over and ask Santa 
Anna if he needs anything in the way of medicines, 
or provisions, or clothing. I rather think the treaty 
requires this of us. And I do n't know but we ought 
to send them a few teachers — for I understand that 
they are shockingly ignorant people." 

" But how do you ever know which party conquers 
in this fighting on Christian principles ? " 

'^ That is the beauty of it. Both sides conquer, 
and there are never any killed or wounded." 



Example has a secret magnetic virtue like the 
load-stone : it attracts by a power of which we can 
give no account. 



40 THREADS OF GOLD 

CARDIPHONIA. 



Hannah Lloyd. 



F the hard heart must be smitten ere the springs of 
life can flow, 
As the waters locked in Horeb gushed beneath the 

prophet's blow ; 
If the veil before the temple where our idols are en- 
shrined, 
Must be rent in twain to teach us we are weak, and 

frail, and blind ; 
If the whirlwind and the fire must the still small 

voice precede, 
Wakening in our souls the echo, Earth is but a failing 

reed ; 
If the waves that overwhelm us may not in their 

wrath be stayed. 
Grant us still to feel, O Father, — " It is I — be not 

afraid." 



If beside our household altars we grow weary of our 
trust ; 

If the wing of faith is broken, and her pinions trail in 
dust ; 

If we faint beneath our burdens, as we vainly ques- 
tion why 



BITS OF THINGS 4 1 

All our springs of consolation and our wells of hope 

are dry ; 
If our cup from Marah's fountain be replenished o'er 

and o'er 
Till the dregs are drops of bitter, earth has not a 

solace for, — 
Though our strength be born of suffering, though 

our hearts be sore dismayed. 
Oh ! sustain us with thy presence : " It is I — be not 

afraid." 

If our pleasant pictures, fading, leave a back-ground 
of despair. 

Let a ray of light from heaven beam upon the dark- 
ness there ; 

As, in some time-worn painting which the dust 
has gathered o'er, 

Light discloses to the gazer beauty all unknown be- 
fore, — 

So the bright rays, piercing downward through the 
mist which round us lies. 

May illume life's darkened canvas, and reveal before 
our eyes 

Glimpses sweet of pleasant waters, where our foot- 
steps shall be stayed. 

As we hearken to the whisper, — " It is I — be not 
afraid." 



4 2 THREADS OF GOLD 

It may be the spirit strengthens, and tiie soul grows 

purer white, 
When the clouds of sorrow darken, and all starless is 

the night ; 
That within their gloom is gathered gentle and re- 
freshing rain, 
Every little germ of patience quickening into life 

again ! 
But we fain would come before Thee, ere the evil 

days draw nigh, 
Ere the sun and moon are darkened, or the clouds 

are in our sky, 
While life's silver cord is binding us to gladness and 

to mirth, 
And its golden bowl is filling from the choicest founts 

of earth . 

While the beauty of our morning in its fragrance 

round us lies. 
We would of the heart's libation pour to Thee a 

sacrifice ; 
Trustful that the hand which scatters blessings every 

morning new, 
Would refill the urn of offering, as a floweret with 

the dew : 
Pure and sweet the exhalations from a grateful heart 

to heaven, 



^ITS OF THINGS 43 

Unto Thee then be the incense of our Cardiphonia 

given,— 
Ere the noontide sun shall wither, or the gathering 

twilight hour 
Closes the outpouring chalice of the morn's expanded 

flower. 



A SCRAP. 
^TRANGE we never prize the music 



Till the sweet-voiced bird has fl 



own 



Strange that we should slight the violets 
Till the lovely flowers are gone ! 

Strange that summer skies and sunshine 
Never seem one half so fair 

As when winter's snowy pinions 

Shake their white down in the air ! 

****** 

Let us gather up the sunbeams 

Lying all along life's path ; 
Let us keep the wheat and roses, 

Casting out the thorns and chaft^; — 
Let us find our sweetest comfort 

In the blessings of to-day, 
With a patient hand removing 

All the briers from the way. 



44 THREADS OF GOLD 

''BUT WHY NOT NOW?" 

" Ye did it not to Me?'' — Matt, xxv: 45. 

T^ SAT and gazed upon my sunny home : 
£ All pleasant things were there — 
Bright things to look at ; and sweet soothing sounds 
Still came, and went, upon the perfumed air. 

The sunbeams glanced and quivered 

Through the many-colored pane, 
And the marble floor at the open door 
Mirrored it back again. 
I looked, and listened, and I thanked my Father 

That it was all for me. 
And then I thought of One who had been here 
In days of yore. 
Wearily walking in the world He made — 
The Son of man — and yet the Son of God — 
Despised and poor ! 

I thought of Him, when first His infant form 
Needed a resting-place — and there was none ; 
The King of heaven was waiting to be housed — 

Earth's dwellings had no room ! 
I thought of Him upon the mountain-side 

When all night long 
The silent stars looked down upon His loneliness ; 

For Jesus had no home ! 



BITS OF THINGS 45 

I thought and thought, until my aching heart 
Groaned forth its longings : 

" Oh ! had I been there, 
What tender ministry, what fostering care, 
Wouldst Thou have known, 

Thou blessed One ! 

What kindly words. 
What thoughts and deeds of love !" " 
The hot tears gathered fast : 
I laid me down and wept. 

Was it a breeze that stole into my room. 

So like a voice? 
That came quite close — close to my burning brow — 

And whispered, " Why not now ? " 
It came again : I brushed the tears away, 
And as I bent my head down very low, 

I thought I heard Him say, 
" But why not now ? 

" There is a doorway in a narrow street, 
And close beside that door a broken stair. 

And then a low, dark room ; 

The room is bare, 

But in a corner lies 
A worn-out form upon a hard straw bed — 
No pillow underneath his aching head — 
A face grown wan with suffering, and a hand 



46 THREADS OF GOLD 

Scarce strong enough to reach the small dry crust 

That lies upon the chair. 

Go in, for I am there : 
I have been waiting wearily in that cold room — 

Waiting long, lonely hours — 

Waiting for thee to come ! 

"There's a low, quiet corner in a green church- 
yard 

Where deep, sad shadows lie, 
And sound of passing feet goes seldom by ; 

I want thee there. 
In that still place, beside a new-made grave, 
A woman has been weeping all day long ; 

None marked her where she sate, 

And now 't is getting late, 

And stars are coming out — 

Beautiful stars — my stars — 

That used to shine on me at Olivet. 
The chill night dews are creeping through her frame ; 
She dares not venture back from whence she came ; 
She needs a home ! 

I called for thee, and w^aited — 

But thou didst not come. 
I want thy pitying tears, that fell just now 
Upon the polished slab, to fall upon her cheek, — 
For tears can speak. 



BITS OF THINGS 47 

Lay thy warm hand upon the fainting one ; 
Leave me not there to watch and wait alone ! 

" There is one seated near an open door, 
Where to and fro, all through the busy day. 

The sorrowing and the poor 

Have found their way, 

And now for very weakness 

His eyes are closed, — 
Kind, earnest eyes, that have looked lovingly 
On many a ghastly spectacle of woe — 
Looked into depths where loathesome miseries 

lie. 
And never wept mere idle tears of sympathy. 
The heavy hand has fallen by his side — 

The strong brave hand 

That waited my command. 
And then did deadly battle with the foe. 

He never flinched from any task 
To which I called ; 

Were the way smooth or rough. 

My bidding was enough. 
Go in and look. 
For tears. have dropped upon the open book ! 

That heart is burdened. 

Burdened for my sake ; 
Thou, in thy thoughtless ease, would let it break ! 



48 THREADS OF GOLD 

" 'Twas on a summer's day, long years ago, 
I called two willing servants to my feet ; 
I took them by the hand, and said to each, 

' I shed my blood for thee : 

Lovest thou me ? 

And then I gave hirii work, 

Large work within my fold. 

He had no earthly store 

Wherewith to feed my poor : 
It mattered not — I 'd given thee my gold. 
Where is it now? Look at that pallid brow, 

Sunk in its weary sleep ! 

The furrows are too deep ; 
They tell the tale of many an anxious grief — 

Not his — but mine I 
Whence comes the wasting of that haggard cheek? 

The guilt is thine I 
He gave me all his time and strength and health : 
I took them, and then asked thee for thy wealth — 
Thy given wealth ! — asked that it might be free. 
Held in thitie open palm, for him and me. 
Then came the years of conflict and of care — 
The days of labor and the nights of prayer ; 

Souls perishing in sin — 

Few hands to fetch them in ; 

The hungry to be fed. 

The naked to be clothed, — 



BITS OF THINGS 49 

The outcast and the poor 

Gathering about my door. 
I wanted money, and I wanted bread, 
I wanted all that willing hands could do ; 
I \vanted the quick ear and ready eye, 
Ay, and the deep, true soul of sympathy. 
I wanted help — and so I called for thee : 
I called, and waited, and then called again. 
Oh ! could it be that I should call in vain.? 
I called and waited, — 
And thou didst not come !" 

I tried to hold my breath, and hear Him speak. 

But 'twas as though my throbbing heart must break ; 

I could not lift my head — 

I could not sigh ; 
The crimson shame had burned into my cheek. 
I had no tears : the very font was dry. 
Oh ! it was long — I cannot tell how long — 

That strange, cold stillness ; 
But I felt that He was waiting there, — 

Waiting for me to speak. 
I knelt upon the floor and breathed His name. 
Then, struggling, one by one the faint words came ! 
" Jesus ! I thought I loved Thee ; 
I remember well 

The day when Thou didst hold 
4 



so 



THREADS OF GOLD 



My trembling fingers in Thy pierced hand, 

And take me for Thine own. 
And I did love Thee — 

This poor heart beat true ; 

It was no fancied echo when the voice 
That spoke Thee mine 
Responded, I am Thine ! 
But, O my Master ! can I dare to tell, — 
Thy faithless child has loved Thy gifts too well ! 

I looked on all things beautiful and rare, 
Looked on earth's flowers, 
And thought them very fair. 
I hid me from the rude and vulgar throng. 

And hoped it was Thy will 
That I might turn away from common men, 

And love Thee still. 
I dwelt among the pleasant sounds of life ; 
I did not like the turmoil and the strife 

To come too near ; 
And Thou wast in the thickest battle tide 
When Thou didst call Thy servant to Thy side ; — 

But I was too far oft'. 

And so I did not hear ; — 
My Lord ! I will come nearer — I will take my seat 

Close at Thy feet. 
I will come down where the gray shadows lie. 
And there I '11 listen — listen every day 



BITS OF THINGS 5 1 

To hear Thy voice ! 
It may be I must take a lower place ; 
But let me have the shining of Thy face. 
It may be I must seek a humbler home ; 
Let it be one w^here Thou wilt often come ; 
Its door shall be upon the latch for Thee, 

And for the needy ones who claim 

An interest in Thy name ; 
And I will stand and watch and wait to greet 
The first faint echoes of Thy coming- feet ! " 



BROTHER AND SISTER. 

Lillie Morris. 

§EYOND the depths of the azure blue ; 
Beyond the stars that are peeping through ; 
Beyond the realm that intervenes 
The gate of heaven and earthly scenes ; 
Beyond the wall that of jasper alone 
Was founded, and garnished with precious stone ; 
Beyond the saints that swell the throng 
That join in the chorus of heavenly song. 
Clothed in the glory of Christ their King, 
Adoring, worshipping, wondering, — 
They meet again, where none shall sever ; 



52 THREADS OF GOLD 

They meet so soon in the sweet forever ; 

They meet at the throne in the city of God, 

The pavements of which they never had trod. 

We scarce had heard the dip of the oar — 

His feet but touched on Eternity's shore — 

When the wave and the tide again made way, 

And her vessel was launched, and the shadows gray 

Had hidden forever from mortal view 

The loved one so cherished, so kind, so true. 

Beyond the mists and the vapors of years ; 

Beyond earth's chain of joys and of fears ; 

Beyond the kingdoms that glitter here. 

But heirs of a King in a brighter sphere ; 

Beyond the fret and the friction and strife. 

The wear and the tear of the wheels of life ; 

Beyond the time of sorrow and weeping, 

But never beyond the smiling and reaping, — 

Reaping rewards for the good they have done. 

Receiving the prize for the race they have run, — 

Knowing no end to the rapturous pleasure 

Which God meteth out in His own perfect measure, 

They meet in the fulness of heavenly bliss ; 

God prepared this for them, — prepared them for this. 

They meet in the light of that sun which alone 

Shineth forever. "They know as they're known." 

But we wait in the dim, dusky twilight below ; 



BITS OF THINGS 53 

By hope we are anchored ; by faith we shall know, 
When the clouds from our vision roll up and away, 
And our souls are unfettered in eternal day. 
Beyond the repining for what "might have been ; " 
Be3^ond the inclining to tamper with sin ; 
Beyond the enduring the " all things" of earth, 
The continual weighing of gold against worth ; 
Beyond this existence, which is but a span 
In the infinite length of the measure of man ; 
Beyond — yet forever, with palm-branch and crown — 
The brother and sister are still looking down 
On the world they have left from the world they have 

found, 
To guide us unerring, that grace may abound. 



THE FOUR ANCHORS. 

" The day is Thine, the night also is Thine."— PsA. Ixxiv : 16. 

" The darkness and the light are both alike to Thee."— Psa. cxxxix : 12. 

" They cast four anchors out of the stern, and wished for the day." 

— Acts xxvii : 29. 

^HE night is dark !— but God, my God, 
^ Is here, and in command ; 
And sure am I when morning breaks 
I shall be "at the land." 



54 THREADS OF GOLD 

And since I know the darkness is 

To Him as sunniest day, 
I '11 cast the anchor, Patience, out, 

And wish, but wait, for day. 

Fierce drives the storm, but winds and waves 

Within His hand are held. 
And, trusting in Omnipotence, 

My fears are sweetly quelled. 

If wrecked — I 'm in His faithful grasp — 
I'll trust Him, though He slay ; 

So, letting go the anchor. Faith, 
I'll wish, but wait, for day. 

Still seem the moments dreary, long.? 

I rest upon my Lord ; 
I muse on His " eternal years," 

And feast upon His word. 

His promises, so rich and great. 

Are my support and stay : 
I '11 cast the anchor, Hope, ahead, 

And wish, but wait, for day. 

O wisdom infinite ! O light 

And love, supreme, divine ! 
How can I feel one fluttering doubt, 

In hands so dear as Thine.? 



BITS OF THINGS 55 



I '11 lean on Thee, my best Beloved ; 

My heart on Thy heart lay ; 
And, casting out the anchor. Love, 

I '11 w^ish, but wait, for day. 



THE GOLDEN ROBIN'S NEST. 

O" GOLDEN robin came to build his nest 
3 High in the elm tree's ever-nodding crest. 
And all day long, upon his task intent, 
Backw^ard and forward busily he went. 

Gathering from far and near the tiny threads 
That birdies weave for little birdies' beds, — 
Now bits of grass, now bits of vagrant string. 
And now some queerer, dearer sort of thing. 

For on the lawn, where he was wont to come 
In search for stuff' to build his pretty home. 
We dropped, one day, a lock of golden hair, 
Which our wee darling easily could spare ; 

And close beside it tenderly we placed 
A lock that had the stooping shoulders graced 
Of her old grandsire. It was white as snow. 
Or cherry-trees when they are all ablow. 



56 THREADS OF GOLD 

Then throve the golden robin's work apace ! 
Hundreds of times he sought the happy place. 
Where, sure, he tliouglit, in his bird fashion dim, 
Wondrous provision had been made for him. 

Both locks — the w^hite and golden — disappeared ; 
The nest was finished, and the brood was reared ; 
And then there came a pleasant summer day 
When the last golden robin flew away. 

Ere long, in triumph from its leafy height 
We bore the nest, so wonderfully light. 
And saw how prettily the white and gold 
Made warp and woof of many a gleaming fold. 

But when again the golden robin came. 
Cleaving the orchard with his breast aflame, 
Grandsire's white locks and baby's golden head 
Were lying low — both in one grassy bed. 

And so more dear than ever is the nest, 
Ta'en from the elm-tree's ever-nodding crest. 
Little the golden robins thought how rare 
A thing they wrought of white and golden hair. 



Comfort comes to us when we are comforting the 
comfortless. 



BITS OF THINGS 57 

THE REFUGE. 

<<1TESUS, lover of my soul," 
(2i Bids me in His bosom stay, 

And though "^billows round me roll," 

I am safely hid away, — 
For He holds me in His arms, 

Quite beyond the tempter's reach, 
And He whispers to my heart 

Words unknown to human speech. 

"Other refuge have I none," — 

He my habitation is ; 
Here no evil can befall, 

I am kept in perfect peace ; 
I am covered all day long 

" With the shadow of His wing ; " 
Dwell in safety through the night. 

Waking, this is what I sing,— 

"Thou, O Christ! art all I w^ant;" 

Rests my helpless soul on Thee ; 
Thou wilt never leave alone. 

Ne'er forget to comfort me. 
Thou hast saved my .soul from death. 

Thou hast scattered doubts and fears. 
And the sunshine of Thy face 

Sweetly drieth all my tears. 



58 THREADS OF GOLD 

"Thou of life the fountain art," 

Thou dost wash me white as snow 
I'm content to dwell apart 

From all else, Thyself to know. 
Blessed Sun of Righteousness, 

I so love to look on Thee, 
That my eyes are growing blind 

To the things once dear to me. 



FIND HIM. 

Rosa Evangelifie Angel. 

fHROUGH the house there sounds a sobbing, 
And a little tear-stained face. 
With its golden curls a-bobbing, 
Finds me in my hiding-place ; 

And a voice, half choked with sorrow, 

Says, — " My little doggy 's lost. 
And he '11 be so cold to-morrow ; 

Find him, find him, for he 's lost ! " 

In her home a lonely mother 

Weeps her wayward boy to-night ; 

And the sobs she fain would smother 
Reach me in my corner bright ; 



BITS OF THINGS 59 

And the silver head bends lowly, 

And the loving eyes are dim, 
And the pale lips whisper slowly, — 

" Find him, — my lost boy, — find him ! " 

Childhood's days are not all pleasure ; 

Grief and loss come all too fast ; 
Loving hearts must know the measure 

Of some woe ere morn is past, — 

And the heart that age has cumbered 

With a mighty weight of pain, 
Till its pangs could ne'er be numbered — 

Yet doth loss o'erbalance gain. 

Ever thus some heart is breaking, 

Seeking long with bitter tears ; 
In the still night-watches waiting, 

Calling, calling through the years, — 

"Find him ! find him ! only find him ! 
Let me kiss him ere I die ; 
If ye love me, find him, find him ! " 
Countless hearts repeat the cry. 

Still the heart must seek its treasure, — 

Oh ! the loved, the loved and lost ! 
Still the faithful heart doth measure 

Love for cruelty. The cost 



6o THREADS OF GOLD 

Of earth's love is life's surrender, 
And the truest love must bear 

Sorest grief; for hearts most tender 
Know earth's deepest pain and care. 

O thou soul ! lost, lost in blindness, 
Far from home, and love, and friends, 

Lo ! One waits in patient kindness, — 
One whose tender love ne'er ends ; 

He alone can give thee gladness 
For thy sorrow ; to the brim 

Fill with joy thy cup of sadness ; 
Find Him ! O lost soul, find Him ! 



LOVING AND FAITHFUL. 

Written after witnessing Friends marriage ceremony. 

E. Lloyd, Jr. 

I OVING and faithful, even unto death " — 
If Well may it falter, 

The lip this solemn promise saith 

Before that altar 
Where, o'er the trembling covenanters, lean 
Recording angel and high priest, unseen. 



BITS OF THINGS 6 1 

" Loving and faithful " — What, is it to be 

Now and forever ? 
The heart is asking as it puts to sea, 

To turn back never, 
If it can keep the promise of to-day 
In its full meaning, faithful and alway ! 

Loving and faithful while a boundless reach 

Of spotless azure 
O'erarches hearts too full for common speech 

Their bliss to measure, — 
Loving and faithful when the first clouds lie 
In rolls of silver fleece along your sky. 

Loving and faithful through the common lot. 

Rejoicing, weeping, 
Whether in palace-home or humble cot 

Their high trust keeping, 
And when life's daily wear to light shall bring 
The spots that round poor human nature cling ! 

Loving and faithful through the spirit's strife, 

On heights, in hollows ; 
In lonely by-ways struggling for its life, 

Where no eye follows ; 
In earnest wrestling with its household foes, 
How many and how strong. One only knows. 



62 THREADS OF GOLD 

****** 

I had been reading in the life of two, 

A sire and mother, 
Whom care, and change, and sorrow nearer drew 

To one another, 
Closer and closer, till the winter's sod 
Lay on his breast, whose soul went up to God. 

They shared together many a bitter cup 

And tear-wet pillow, 
But each the other's sinking head bore up 

O'er wave and billow ; 
For they had pitched their tent with faith-lit eyes, 
One window opening toward Paradise. 

And there they often sat at ev^e and read 

Aloud together. 
Or, watching — when dark days were overhead 

And stormy weather — 
The far blue hills, which earth from heaven 

divide, 
Tipped with the glory of the eventide. 

They had their sunny days and simple joys 

And fireside pleasures. 
And gifts of merry-hearted girls and boys 

For household treasures. 



BITS OF THINGS 6^^ 

These grew and left them : children's children 

came 
Back, with their mother's look and father's name. 

Their tiny feet went pattering all about 

The old waste places ; 
Recovered sunbeams — peeping in and out — 

Their sweet round faces 
And loving ways, and little clinging arms, 
To care and toil perpetual counter-charms. 

They had their friends, — the warm, the tried, the 
true. 

Some great, some lowly ; 
Their unassuming goodness round them drew 

The pure, the holy ; 
Sweet singers came, and heaven-ascending 

prayer 
The low-roofed dwelling filled with odorous air. 

Their hearth-stone was a broad and pleasant 
space 

Where many mingled ; 
Where none for honor. and the highest place 

Apart were singled. 
This their example has bequeathed to others : 
The children of one Father — all are brothers. 



64 THREADS OF GOLD 

And so their souls' lives glided into one ; 

The tie that bound them 
Seemed lovelier with each day's duty done, 

To those around them ; 
The bridal ring grev^ brighter and more bright, 
As on they journeyed with the sons of light. 

They had the Christian's fare — hard, rugged 
steeps 

To travel over ; 
But He His faithful ones who ever keeps 

Safe under cover 
Shook down upon them, from their silver lining, 
The healing of His wings, above them shining. 

Age brought them sicknesses and silver hairs. 

But morn and even 
Still found them higher up the narrow stairs 

That wind towards heaven. 
Just at the landing-place they missed each other : 
God parted them — that father and that mother. 

From the hushed chamber where the dying lay, 

Sweet rose their hymning ; 
The tears from her weak eyes he wiped away, 

His own fast dimming : 
We thank Thee, Father, that our spirits see 
No shadow on the path that leads to Thee. 



BITS OF THINGS 65 

By the sick father sat the aged mother, 

Watching and bending 
O'er him with love he counted like no other, 

To the still ending : 
It found them, with clasped hands and mingling 

breath, 
" Loving and faithful eve72 unto death.'' 



A SONG OF THE BURDEN-BEARER. 

" I'll drop my burden at His feet, 
And bear a song away." 

®VER the narrow footpath 
That led from my lowly door, 
I went, with a thought of the Master, 

As oft I had walked before. 
My heart was heavily laden, 

And with tears my eyes were dim ; 
But I knew I should lose the burden, 
Could I get a glimpse of Him. 

It "was more than I could carry, 

If I carried it alone. 
And none in my home might share it — 

Only One, upon the throne. 



66 THREADS OF GOLD 

It came between me and pleasure, 
Between my work and me ; 

But our Lord could understand it, 
And His touch could set me free. 

Over the trodden pathway. 

To the fields all shorn and bare, 
I went with a step that faltered, 

And a face that told of care. 
I had lost the light of the morning 

With its shimmer of sun and dew. 
But a gracious look from the Master 

Would the strength of morn renew. 

While yet my courage wavered, 

And the sky before me blurred, 
I heard a voice beside me 

Saying a tender word ; 
And I turned, to see the brightness 

Of heaven upon the road, 
And suddenly lost the pressure 

Of the weary, crushing load. 

Nothing that hour was altered ; 

I had still the weight of care, 
But I bore, now, with the gladness 

Which comes of answered prayer. 



BITS OF THINGS 67 

Not a grief the soul can fetter, 

Nor cloud its vision, when 
The dear Lord gives the spirit 

To breathe to His will, "Amen ! " 

O friends, if the greater burdens 

His love can make so light. 
Why should His wonderful goodness 

Our halting credence slight? 
The little sharp vexations — 

And the briers that catch and fret — 
Oh, take them to the Helper 

Who has never failed us yet ! 

Tell Him about the heartache, 

And tell Him the longing, too ; 
Tell Him the baffled purpose. 

When we scarce know what to do : 
Then, leaving all our weakness 

With the One divinely strong, 
Forget that we bear a burden. 

And carry away a song ! 



Troubles are in God's catalogue of mercies. 



68 THREADS OF GOLD 

SUNSET ON THE BEARCAMP. 

JoJm G. Whittier. 

^pr GOLD fringe on the purpling hem 
^^L Of hills the river runs, 

As down its long green valley falls 

The last of summer's suns. 
Along its tawny gravel-bed, 

Broad-flowing, swift, and still, 
As if its meadow levels felt 

The hurry of the hill. 
Noiseless between its banks of green 

From curve to curve it slips : 
The drows}' maple-shadows rest 

Like fingers on its lips. 

A waif from Carroll's wildest hills, 

Unstoried and unknown ; 
The ursine legend of its name 

Prowls on its banks alone. 
Yet flowers as fair its slopes adorn 

As ever Yarrow knew, 
Or, under rainy Lish skies, 

By Spenser's Mulla grew ; 
And through the gaps of leaning trees 

Its mountain cradle shows — 



BITS OF THINGS 69 

The gold against the amethyst, 
The green against the rose. 

Touched by a light that hath no name, 

A glory never sung, 
Aloft on sky and mountain wall 

Are God's great pictures hung. 
How changed the summits vast and old ! 

No longer granite-browed. 
They melt in rosy mist ; the rock 

Is softer than the cloud ; 
The valley holds its breath ; no leaf 

Of all its elms is twirled : 
The silence of eternity 

Seems falling on the world. 

The pause before the breaking seals 

Of mystery is this : 
Yon miracle-play of night and day 

Makes dumb its witnesses. 
What unseen altar crowns the hills 

That reach up stair on stair? 
What eyes look through, what white wings fan, 

These purple veils of air.? 
What presence from the heavenly heights 

To those of earth stoops down.^^ 
Not vainly Hellas dreamed of gods 

On Ida's snowy crown. 



70 THREADS OF GOLD 

Slow fades the vision of the sky, 

The golden water pales, 
And over all the valley-land 

A gray-winged vapor sails. 
. I go the common way of all ; 

The sunset fires will burn, 
The flowers will blow, the river flow. 

When I no more return. 
No whisper from the mountain pine. 

Nor lapsing stream, shall tell 
The stranger, treading where I tread. 

Of him who loved them well. 

But beauty seen is never lost, 

God's colors all are fast ; 
The glory of this sunset heaven 

Into my soul has passed, — 
A sense of gladness, unconfined 

To mortal date or clime : 
As .the soul liveth, it shall live 

Beyond the years of time. 
Beside the mystic asphodels 

Shall bloom the home-born flowers. 
And new horizons flush and glow 

With sunset hues of ours. 

Farewell ! These smiling hills must wear 
Too soon their wintrv frown. 



BITS OF THINGS 7 1 

And snow-cold winds from off them shake 

The maple's red leaves down. 
But I shall see a summer sun 

Still setting, broad and low ; 
The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, 

The golden water flow. 
A lover's claim is mine on all 

I see to have and hold, — 
The rose-light of perpetual hills, 

And sunsets never cold ! 



A LITTLE LAMB ASTRAY. 

|\H ! I wonder if there ever 
a/ Was a little girl like me, 
With so many, many heart-aches 
That nobody seems to see ! 

Oft I 've heard the great, wise preachers. 
And the deacons good and kind, 

Tell about the way to heaven. 
And how easy 'tis to find. 

And I 've thought and thought upon it, 
Yox I long to know the way ; 

But I 'm such an awful sinner 
That I am afraid to pray. 



72 THREADS OF GOLD 

Now I wish they'd come and tell me 
How their Jesus I might meet, 

For the}^ say He loves the children, 
And will guide their tender feet 

Into pastures green and pleasant. 
And by waters calm and still ; 

Make them gems of brilliant beauty, 
Their Redeemer's crown to fill. 

But 't was just the other Sunday, 
When our pastor preached so good. 

That I thought he saw me listening, 
And would stop and speak a word, — 

When he only said " Good morning," 
And the usual " Are you well ? " 

Though I pressed the hand he gave me, 
Hoping thus my grief to tell. 

Then I stole away in secret. 

And I cried so very long. 
That mamma was greatly troubled. 

For she feared I had done wrong. 

And at night she tucked me snugly 

In my little trundle-bed. 
And so softly pressed the tear-stains 

In a loving kiss, but said 



BITS OF THINGS 73 

Not a word about her Jesus 

I was hungering so to know. 
Oh ! my poor, poor heart seemed breaking, 

For I longed to find Him so. 

I have tried so hard to find Him, 

But I do not know the way, 
And nobody seems to notice 

There's a little lamb astray. 

Does Jesus care, I wonder. 

If I never find His fold? 
I 'm almost sure I love Him, 

Though I'm not so very old. 

I should think the grown up people 
Would so love to speak His name. 

When He did so much to bring them 
To the home from v^^ience He came ! 

And when I'm a Christian mamma, 

I will tell my little girl 
Just the way to come to Jesus — 

How to find the priceless Pearl. 

Then I '11 tell the dear, good pastors, 

Who know the way so well. 
To stop the little children, 

And the sweet old storv tell ! 



74 THREADS OF GOLD 

THE THREE BIDDERS. 

AN INCIDENT IN THE LIEE OF ROWLAND HILL. 

T. K., Jr. (Friends' Review). 

ILL you listen, young friends, for a moment, 
While a story I unfold ? — 
A marvellous tale of a wonderful sale 

Of a noble lady of old ; — 
How hand and heart, at an auction mart, 
And soul and body, she sold ! 

'Twas in the broad, king's highway, 

Near a century ago. 
That a preacher stood — though of noble blood — 

Telling the fallen and low 
Of a Saviour's love, and a home above. 

And a peace that they all might know. 

All crowded around to listen ; 

And they wept at the wondrous love 
That could cleanse their sin, and receive them in 

His spotless mansions above ; — 
While slow through the crowd a lady proud 

Her gilded chariot drove. 



BITS OF THINGS 75 

"Make room !" cried the haughty outrider; 

" You are closing the king's highway ; 
My lady is late, and their Majesties wait ; 

Give way, then, good people, I pray." 
The preacher heard, and his so«l was stirred. 

And he cried to the rider, " Nay ! " 

His eye like the lightning flashes ; 

His voice like a trumpet rings, — 
" Your grand fete days, and your fashions and ways, 

Are all but perishing things. 
'Tis the king's highway, but I hold it to-da 

In the name of the King of kings. 



LV 



Then, bending his gaze on the lady. 

And marking her soft eye fall, — 

" And now, in His name, a sale I proclaim, 
And bids for this lady call. 

Who will purchase the whole — her body and soul, 
Coronet, jewels, and all.? 

" I see, fair lady, three bidders : 

The World steps up as the first." 
" I will her my treasures, and all of the pleasures 

• For which my votaries thirst ; 
She shall dance through each daj^, more joyous 
and gay, 
With — a quiet grave, at the worst." 



76 THREADS OF GOLD 

But out spake the Devil, boldly : 

" The kingdoms of earth are mine. 

Fair lady, thy name, with an envied fame, 
On their brightest tablets shall shine ; 

Only give me thy^oul, and I give thee the whole- 
Their glory and wealth — to be thine !" 

" And what hast Thou to offer, 

Thou Man of Sorrows, unknown ? " 

And He gently said, — " My blood I have shed 
To purchase her for mine own : 

To conquer the grave, and her soul to save, 
I trod the wine-press alone. 

" I will give her my cross of suffering. 

My cup of sorrow to share ; 
But with endless love, in my home above, 

All shall be righted there : 
She shall walk in white, in a robe of light, 

And a radiant crown shall wear." 

•" Thou hast heard the terms, fair lady. 
That each has offered for thee. 

Which wilt thou choose, and which wilt thou lose,- 
This life, or the life to be? 

The fable was mine, but the choice is yet thine, — 
Sweet lady, which of the three ? " 



BITS OF THINGS 77 

Nearer the stand of the preacher 

The gilded chariot stole ; 
And each head was bowed, as over the crowd 

The thundering accents roll ; 
And every word, as the lady heard, 

Burned into her very soul. 

"Pardon, good people," she murmured. 

As she rose from her cushioned seat. 

Full well, they say, as the crowd made way, 
You could hear her pulses beat ; 

And each head was bare, as the lady fair 
Knelt at the preacher's feet. 

She took from her hand the jewels, 

The coronet from her brow : 
" Lord Jesus," she said, as she bowed her head, 

" The highest bidder art Thou ; 
Thou gavest, for my sake. Thy life, and I take 

Thy offer ; and take it now. 

" I know the world and its pleasures : 

At best they weary and cloy : 
And the Tempter is bold, and his honors and gold 

Prove ever a fatal decoy. 
I long for thy rest— Thy bid is the best ; 

Lord, I accept it with joy ! 



78 THREADS OF GOLD 

" Give me Thy cup of suffering: 

Welcome earth's sorrow and loss : 

Let my portion be to win souls to Thee : 
Perish earth's glittering dross. 

I gladly lay down its coveted crown, 
Saviour, to take Thy cross." 

"Amen !" said the holy preacher. 
And the people wept aloud. 

Years have rolled on, and they all have gone. 
Around that altar who bowed. 

Lady and throng have been swept along 

On the wind, like a morning cloud. 

But the Saviour has claimed His purchase, 
And around His radiant seat 

A mightier throng, in an endless song, 
The wonderful story repeat ; 

And a form more fair is bending there. 
Laying her crown at His feet. 

So, now, in eternal glory. 

She rests from her cross and care ; 
But her spirit above, with a longing love. 

Seems calling on you to share 
Her endless reward in the joy of her Lord ! 

Oh, will you not answer her there .^ 



BITS OF THINGS 79 



JANE CONQUEST, 

AND HOW SHE RANG THE CHURCH BELL IN A 
STORM. 

Emily Faithful. 

tBOUT the time of Christmas 
(Not many years ago), 
When the sky was black 
With wrath and rack. 

And the earth was white with snow. 
When loudly rang the tumult 

Of the winds and waves at strife, 
In her home by the sea, 
With her babe on her knee. 

Sat Harry Conquest's wife. 

And he was on the waters, 

Although she knew not where, 

For never a lip 

Could tell of the ship 

To lighten her heart's despair ; — ■ 

And her babe was fading and dying ; 
• The pulse at the tiny wrist 

Was all but still, 

And the brow was chill, 

And pale as the white sea mist. 



8o THREADS OF GOLD 

Jane Conquest's heart was hopeless ; 

She could only weep and pray 
That the Shepherd mild 
Would take her child 

Without a pain away. 
The night grew dark, and darker, 

And the storm grew stronger still, 
And buried deep 
In dreamless sleep 

Lay the hamlet under the hill. 

The fire was dead on the hearth-stone 

Within Jane Conquest's room. 
And still sat she 
With her babe on her knee, 

At prayer amid the gloom, — 
When, borne above the tempest, 

A sound fell on her ear, 
Thrilling her through. 
For well she knew 

'T was the voice of mortal fear. 

And a light leaped in at the lattice, 
Sudden, and swift, and red, 

Crimsoning all 

The whited wall, 

And the floor and the roof overhead. 



BITS OF THINGS 

It shone with a radiant glory 

On the face of the dying child, 
Like a fair first ray 
Of the shadowless day 

Of the land of the undefiled. 
And it lighted the mother's features 

With a glow so strange and new, 
That the white despair 
That had gathered there 

Seemed changed to hope's own hue. 

For one brief moment heedless 

Of the babe upon her knee, 
With the frenzied start 
Of a frighted hart, 

Upon her feet rose she. 
And through the quaint old casement 

She looked upon the sea. 
Thank God that the sight 
She saw that night 

So rare a sight should be ! 
Hemmed in by many a billow, 

With mad and foaming lip, 
A mile from shore. 
Or hardly more, 

She saw a gallant ship 
Aflame from deck to topmast. 

Aflame from stem to stern, 
6 



THREADS OF GOLD 

For there semed no speck 
Of all that wreck 

Where the fierce fire did not burn, — 
Till the night was like a sunset, 

And the sea like a sea of blood, 
And the rocks and the shore 
Were bathed all o'er. 

And drenched with the gory flood. 

She looked — and looked — till the terror 

Went creeping through every limb, 
And her breath came quick, 
And her heart turned sick, 

And her sight grew dizzy and dim, 
And her lips had lost their utterance, 

For she tried, but could not speak. 
And her feelings found 
No channel of sound 

In prayer, or sob, or shriek. 

Silent she stood and rigid, 

With her child to her bosom pressed, 
Like a woman of stone 
With a stiff arm thrown 

Round a sculptured babe at her breast. 
Once more that cry of anguish 

Thrilled through the tempest's strife, 



BITS OF THINGS 83 

And it stirred again 
In her heart and brain, 

The active, thinking life ; 
And the light of an inspiration 

Leaped to her brightened eye, 
And on lip and brow 
Were written now 

A purpose pure and high. 

Swiftly she turned, and softly 

She crossed the chamber floor, 

And faltering not. 

In its tiny cot 

She placed the babe she bore ; 

And then with a holy impulse 
She sank on her knees, and made 

A lowly prayer. 

In the silence there, — 

And this is the prayer she prayed : 

" O Christ ! who didst bear the scourging, 
But who now. dost wear the crown, 

I at Thy feet, 

O-True and Sweet, 

Would lay my burden down. 

Thou bad'st me love and cherish 
The babe Thou gavest me, 



84 THREADS OF GOLD 

And I have kept 
Thy word, nor stept 

Aside from following Thee. 

"And, lo ! the boy is dying, 

And vain is all my care, 
And my burden's weight 
Is very great. 

Yea, greater than I can bear. 
O Lord, Thou knowest what peril 

Doth threat those poor men's lives, 
And I, a woman. 
Most weak and human, 

Do plead for their waiting wives. 
Thou canst not let them perish : 

Up, Lord, in Thy strength, and save 
From the scorching breath 
Of this terrible death 

On the cruel winter wave ! 
Take Thou my babe, and watch it — 

No care is like to Thine — 
And let Thy power 
In this perilous hour 

Supply what lack is mine." 

And so her prayer she ended, 
And, rising to her feet, 



BITS OF THINGS 85 

Gave one long look • 

At the cradle nook 

Where the child's faint pulses beat, — 
And then with softest footsteps 

Retrod the chamber floor, 
And noiselessly groped 
For the latch, and oped 

And crossed the cottage door. 

The snow lay deep and drifted 

As far as sight could reach, 
Save where alone 
The dank weed strown 

Did mark the sloping beach. 
But whether 'twere land or ocean, 

Or rock, or sand, or snow. 
Or sky overhead, 
On all was shed 

The same fierce, fiiteful glow. 

And through the tempest bravely 
Jane Conquest fought her way, 

By snowy deep 

And slippery steep. 

To where her duty lay. 

And she journeyed onward, breathless. 
And weary, and sore, and faint, 



86 THREADS OF GOLD 

Yet forward pressed 
With the strength and the zest 
And the ardor of a saint. 

Silent, and weird, and lonely. 

Amid its countless graves, 
Stood the old gray church 
On its tall rock perch, 

Secure from the sea and its waves ; 
And beneath its sacred shadow 

Lay the hamlet, safe and still, 
For however the sea 
And the wind might be, 

There was quiet under the hill. 

Jane Conquest reached the church-yard. 

And stood by the old church door ; 
But the oak was tough, 
And had bolts enough, 

And her strength was frail and poor. 
So she crept through a narrow wmdow, 

And climbed the belfry stair, 
And grasped the rope. 
Sole cord of hope 

For the mariners in despair ; 
And the wild wind helped her bravely. 

And she wrought with an earnest will, 
And the clamorous bell 



BITS OF THINGS 87 

Spoke out right well 

To the hamlet under the hill. 
And it roused the slumbering fishers, 

Nor its warning task gave o'er 
Till a hundred fleet 
And eager feet 

Were hurrying ta the shore : 
And then it ceased its ringing, 

For the woman's work was done, 
And many a boat 
That was now afloat 

Showed jnart's work was begun. 

But the ringer in the belfry 

Lay motionless and cold, 
With the cord of hope, 
The church bell-rope, 

Still in her frozen hold. 
How long she lay it boots not. 

But she woke from her swoon at last 
In her own bright room. 
To find the gloom 

And the grief and the peril past ; 
With a sense of joy within her. 

And the Christ's sweet presence near. 
And friends around. 
And the cooing sound 

Of her babe's voice in her ear. 



88 THREADS OF GOLD 

And they told her all the storv — 

How a brave and gallant few 
O'ercame each check, 
And reached the wreck, 

And saved the hapless crew ; 
And how the curious sexton 

Had climbed the belfry stair. 
And of his fright, 
When, cold and white, 

He found her lying there ; 
And how when they had borne her 

Back to her home again. 
The child she left 
With a heart bereft 

Of hope, and weary with pain. 
Was found within its cradle 

In a quiet slumber laid. 
With a peaceful smile 
On its lips the while, 

And the wasting sickness stayed. 

And she said 't was the Christ who watched it. 
And brought it safely through. 

And she praised His truth, 

And His tender ruth, 

Who had saved her darling too. 

And then there came a letter 
Across the surging foam, 



BITS OF THINGS 

And then the breeze 
Across the seas 

Bore Harry Conquest home. 
And they told him all the storj^ — 

That still their children tell— 
Of the fearful sight 
On that winter night, 

And the woman who rang the bell ! 



SIX AND SEVEN. 

5\N a golden summer dav, 
1/ Sweetened by the breath of May, 
Laughing children were at play. 

Ancient wood and meadow rung 
With the joyous music flung 
Out from many a noisy tongue. 

Warbling bird and waving tree, 
Tinkling bell and droning bee, 
Mingled in the melody. 

Little wild flowers, one by one, 
Looking upward, had begun 
Morning worship to the sun. 



90 THREADS OF GOLD 

Far away one little maid 
, From the shouting ramblers strayed, 
And her name was Adalaid. 

With a face half fear, half joy, 
And with footsteps light and coy, 
Followed her a blue-eyed boy. 

O'er the spotless vault of heaven 
Shadowy clouds had not been driven ;- 
She was six, and he was seven. 

Where the partridge seeks his coop, 
Marching with his wings adroop. 
Drummer to the sylvan troop, — 

Where the bubbling rivulet brims, 
Singing low its vernal hymns, 
Sat they 'neath the alder limbs. 

Dimpled waters, soft and sweet. 
Curled around their mossy seat — 
Dimpled waves and dimpled feet. 

By that drooping alder shade. 
Into one two hearts were made, — 
Theodore and Adalaid. 



BITS OF THINGS 

True love ne'er to earth was given : 
True love hurries home to heaven : 
She was six, and he was seven ! 

Soon from scented fields and bowers 
Autumn chased the summer hours, 
Scattering, as they fled, the flowers. 

Ripe nuts rustling to the ground. 
Young ears catch the magic sound. 
Young feet to the forest bound. 

But from all that happy throng, 
Shouting loud and shouting long, 
Absent was the sweetest song. 

One June day a mound was made 
By the drooping alder's shade. 
Adalaid, O Adalaid ! 

On the turf, so svs^eet and low. 
Fell the first cold winter's snow, 
Six and seventy years ago ! 

Near it still, each morn and even. 
Stands an old man, ripe for heaven. 
She was six, and he was seven ! 



91 



92 THREADS OF GOLD 

BEAUTIFUL HANDS. 

(^UCH beautiful, beautiful hands ! 
)^ They 're neither white, nor small, 
And you, I know, would scarcely think 

That they were fair at all. 
I 've looked on hands whose form and hue 

A sculptor's dream might be. 
Yet are these aged, wrinkled hands 
Most beautiful to me. 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 

Though heart were weary and sad, 
These patient hands kept toiling on, 

' That the children might be glad. 
I almost weep, as, looking back 

To childhood's distant day, 
I think how those hands rested not. 

While mine were at their play. 

Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 

They 're growing feeble now, 
For time and pain have left their mark 

On hand, and heart, and brow. 
Alas ! alas ! the nearing time, 

And the sad, sad day to me, 
When 'neath the '' daisies, out of sight," 

Those hands will folded be. 



BITS OF THINGS 93 

But, oh ! beyond this shadow-land, 

Where all is bright and fair, 
I know full well those dear old hands 

Will palms of victory bear. 
Where crystal streams through endless years 

Flow over golden sands, 
And where the old grow young again, 

I '11 clasp my mother's hands. 



HOW DO I LOVE THEE ? 

yean Ingelow. 

'TJTOW do I love thee?" Let me count the ways : 
J^[ I love thee to the depth and breadth and height 
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight 
For the ends of being and ideal grace ! 
I love thee to the level of every day's 
Most quiet need, by sun and candle light ; 
I love thee freely, as men strive for right ; 
I love thee purely, as men turn from praise ; 
I love thee with the passion put to use 
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith ; 
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose 
With my lost saints ; I love thee with the breath, 
Smiles, tears of all my life, — and, if God please, 
I shall but love thee better after death. 



94 THREADS OF GOLD 



A WONDERFUL BABY. 

^IM^ IS a wonderful baby — I cannot deny it — 
P The loveliest, dearest, that ever v^as made ! 

And no silver or gold in the country could buy it. 
Nor jewels, though e'en a queen's casket were paid. 

We humor and fondle, we kiss and caress it, 

Are anxious whenever it's out of our sight; 
We call it pet names, such as "Pet lamb" and 

"Blessed," 
" Dear old precious darling," from morning till night. 

If we have any joy, if we have any trouble. 
If over our pathway a dark shadow lowers, 

Our griefs we divide, and our pleasures we double, 
Because of this wonderful baby of ours. 

It never is cross, or impatient, or fretful. 

Like some other babies that you and I know, 

And we never can be unkind or forgetful 
Of all that to this precious darling we owe. 

Its face is all wrinkled — now isn't that funny ! — 
Its step has been feeble for many a day. 

And over the brow where were ringlets once sunny, 
There now are soft folds of clear silvery gray. 



BITS OF THINGS 95 

You '11 think I am foolish, and frivolous maybe, 
Declaring the truth I have surely not told, 

But this precious old darling, this wonderful baby, 
So dear to our hearts, is eighty years old. 

By cares and caresses we give to no other, 
Her care and her kindness we try to repay. 

And we thank the dear Father in heaven that mother, 
With heart young as ever, is with us to-day. 



SO TIRED. 

W. K. Lewis. 

^O tired, Lord ! — but not too tired 
1^ To place my hand in Thine, 
To lay my head upon Thy breast, 
i\.nd know Thy love is mine. 

So tired, Lord ! — this soothing lull. 

Succeeds a night of pain ; 
I am too weak to pray, or think, 

Or rouse my throbbing brain. 

• So tired, Lord ! — I cannot speak, 

But stillness is more sweet ; 
I nestle in the sunshine 

That soothes me at Thy feet. 



96 THREADS OF GOLD 

So tired, Lord ! — no need to speak, 

I feel that Thou art near ; 
But I am weak, so weak, dear Lord, 

Too weak to shed a tear. 

So tired, Lord ! — the twilight hour 

Is drawing near again ; 
I cannot pray, but Thou canst see 

The words that haunt my brain. 

So tired, Lord ! — my kindest friends 

Can never, never tell. 
The depth of weariness and pain, 

For they are strong and well. 

So tired, Lord ! — Thou know^est all — 
O welcome, happy thought ! 

I need not tell Thee — Thou hast seen 
The happiness it brought. 

So tired, Lord ! — Thou hast been tired ! 

Ah, when I think of Thee, 
My keenest anguish melts away 

In Thy deep love for me. 

So tired. Lord ! — my by-gone friends 
Have gently passed away ; 

But Thou art still the same, dear Lord, 
Thou knowest no decay. 



BITS OF THINGS 97 

So tired, Lord ! — but not too tired 

To place my hand in Thine, 
To lay my head upon Thy breast, 

And know Thy love is mine. 



SECRET COMMUNION. 

'^1 ORD, I have shut my door, 
^ Shut out life's busy cares and fretting noise ; 
Here in the silence they intrude no more, — 

Speak Thou, and heavenly joy shall fill my 
heart 
With music sweet and calm, 
A holy psalm. 

Yes, I have shut my door 

From all the splendid beauties of Thine earth. 
From its blue ceiling to its emerald floor. 

Filled with spring's bloom and mirth ; — from 
these Thy works, 
I turn Thyself to see — 
I speak to Thee. 

Lord, I have shut my door 

On earthly passions, all its yearning love. 



98 THREADS OF GOLD 

Its tender friendships and its earthly store 
Of human ties ; — above all these my heart 
Aspires to Thine ; 
Stoop Thou to mine. 

Lord, I have shut my door, — 

I am alone. Come Thou and visit me. 
As w^hen the doors were shut in days of yore 
Thou visitedst Thine own ; — my Lord, I kneel 
In reverent love and fear, 
For Thou art near ! 



FALL'S FIRST TROPHIES. 

Laura Updegraff. 

|V LITTLE leaves ! 

%) Soft yellow leaves ! 

Your silent voice my spirit grieves ; 
The air is warm, skies blue and clear. 
And yet you whisper, " Fall is here ! " 

The restless leaves — 
Sweet summer leaves — 
Have left for aye the fickle breeze 
This message in my heart to burn, 
As from my printed page I turn. 



BITS OF THINGS 99 

O sun-kissed leaves 
And dew-blessed leaves ! 
Your fall my fond heart undeceives ; 

It seemed that spring was scarcely done, 
That summer's promise scarcely rung 

Among the leaves — 
The green June leaves — 
Whose whisperings every heart believes : 
Each promise is but half fulfilled, 
The promised nectar half distilled. 

O quiet leaves ! 
Tired, wind-tossed leaves ! 
Your rest a solemn lesson breathes : 
Although unfilled life's promise fleet, 
May I at last rest at His feet ! 



STANZA OF HYMN. 

Mrs. Ranyard. 

Y mistakes His free grace will cover. 
My sins He will wash away, 
And the feet that shrink and falter 
Shall walk through the gates of day. 



lOO THREADS OF GOLD 

A SONG OF EXPECTATION. 

E. T. R. (1861). 

^^HE kingdom of Christ, — Is it near? Is it near? 
1® Are His chariot wheels the sounds that we hear? 

Are His angel couriers nigh? 
While nations are shaking, and storms, stooping low, 
Seem winged with disaster and freighted with woe, 

Are the angels halfway down the sky? 

O eyes dim with weeping, and hearts faint with fear, 
The millennial morning, serenely and clear, 

Shall dawn on humanity yet. 
These terrible sounds will die out from the air, 
And Peace, walking slowly, gather flowers for her 
hair 

From fields where the fierce armies met. 

The name of Christ Jesus, like music, shall sound, 
Eternal, immortal, invisible, crowned 

King over a kingdom sublime ! 
Great Leader, and Ruler, and Lord over all ; 
The empire of Satan before Him shall fall — 

Dark dust in the rubbish of time. 



BITS OF THINGS lOI 

Great King, we await thee ! From watch-towers of 

prayer, 
Expectant, we gaze through the sin-troubled air, 

And, with far reaching vision, we see 
That Thy throne standeth firmly, eternal, sublime. 
While still, through the mists and confusion of time, 

The earth climbeth upward to Thee ! 



UNDER ORDERS. 



L. A. T. 



E know not what is expedient. 
But we may know what is right ; 
And we never need grope in darkness 
If we look to heaven for light. 

Deep down in the hold of the vessel 

The ponderous engine lies, 
And faithfully there the engineer 

His labor steadily plies. 

He knows not the course of the vessel. 
He knows not the way he should go ; 

He minds his simple duty, 

And keeps the fires aglow. 



I02 THREADS OF GOLD 

He knows not whether the billows 
The bark may overwhelm ; 

He knows and obeys the orders 
Of the pilot at the helm. 

And so, in the wearisome journey 

Over life's troubled sea, 
I know not the v^ay I am going, 

But Jesus shall pilot me. 

I see not the rocks and the quick-sands. 
For my sight is dull and dim ; 

But I know that Christ is my Captain, 
And I take my orders from Him. 

Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth ! 

Speak peace to my anxious soul ; 
And help me to feel that all my ways 

Are under Thy wise control ; 

That He who cares for the lily, 
And heeds the sparrow's fall. 

Shall tenderly lead His loving child ; 
For He made and loveth all. 

And so, when wearied and baffled. 

And I know not which way to go, 

I will simply do my duty. 

And keep the fires aglow ! 



BITS OF THINGS IO3 

"NOT A SPECK ON MY BROW." 

DYING WORDS OF E. L. H. 

Mary Rhoads. 

^FOT a speck on her brow — not a speck on her 

J^ brow ! 

It is beaming with beauty and holiness now. 

No shadow of sorrow, no traces of care, 

No chilHng impressions of earth are now there. 

The form that we loved so well sleeps 'neath the sod. 

And the spirit, in glory, rejoices in God. 

The summer had passed, with its warm, pleasant hours. 
But autmnn's light step had not withered the flowers, 
When a reaper stole forth from the pearl gates of 

heaven. 
To gather the flowers our Father had given 
To gladden the earth and cast fragrance around, 
Till a garden more meet for these blossoms was found. 

That garden was ready : the gleaner, in love, 
Was sent on the errand of peace from above. 
He came to our circle, and carried away 
The gem that was dearest, the heart that was gay. 
The eye that was brightest, the step that was fleetest. 
The flowers we cherished, the voice that was sweetest. 
The one whom the Saviour had marked for His own — 
The Reaper had found her, and gathered her home. 



I04 THREADS OF GOLD 

At times that sweet garden is open to view, 
And I see its blest garlands of many a hue — 
All pure and all spotless, all dazzlingly bright, 
And amid that perfection, one bud of pure white ; 
And I know 't is our loved one, so radiantly fair — 
'T is the lily hue she in her new home would wear ; 
And may all who have loved her, so think of her now- 
No shadow is on her, no speck on her brow. 



(( 



FAULTLESS. 

Friends' Review, 

IMAULTLESS in His glory's presence ! " 
|[® All the soul within me stirred. 
All my heart reached up to heaven, 
At the wonder of that word. 

''Able to present me faultless ! " 

Lord, forgive the doubt, I cried ; 
Thou didst once to loving doubt show 
Hands and feet and riven side. 

Oh ! for me build up some ladder, 

Bright, with golden round on round. 

That my hope this word may compass. 
Reaching faith's high vantage-ground. 



BITS OF THINGS IO5 



Praying thus, behold my ladder, — 
Reaching unto perfect day, — 

Grew from out a simple story 

Dropped by some one on the way. 

Once a queen — so runs the story — 
Seeking far for something new, 

Found it in a mill, where, strangely. 
Naught but rags repaid her view. 

Rags, from out the very gutters ; 

Rags, of every shape and hue ; 
While the squalid children, picking. 

Seemed but rags from hair to shoe. 

• What, then," ran the eager question, 

"Can you do with things so vile?" 
' Mould them into perfect whiteness," 
Said the master, with a smile. 



" Whiteness ! " quoth the queen, half doubtin 
" But these reddest; crimson dyes, — 
Surely naught can ever whiten 

These to fitness, in your eyes ? " 



^g; 



[o6 THREADS OF GOLD 

"Yes," he said, " though these are colors 
Hardest to remove of all ; 
Still I have the power to make them 
Like the snow-flake in its fall." 

Through my heart the words so simple 
Throbbed with echo in and out : 
"Crimson" — "scarlet" — "white as snow-flake ! 
" Can this man — and can God not? '' 

Now, upon a day thereafter 

(Thus the tale went on at will) 

To the queen there came a present 
From the master at the mill. 

Fold on fold of fairest texture 

Lay the paper, purest white ; 

On each sheet there gleamed the letters 
Of her name in golden light. 

" Precious lesson," wrote the master, 
" Hath my mill thus given me, — 
Showing how our Christ can gather 
Vilest hearts from land and sea ! 

" In some heavenly alembic 

Snowy white from crimson bring ! 
Stamp His name on each, and bear them 
To the palace of the King ! " 



BITS OF THINGS 107 

Oh, what wondrous vision wrapped me ! 

Heaven's gate seemed open wide ; 
Even I stood, clean and faultless, 

Close beneath the pierced side. 

Faultless in His glory's presence ! 

Faultless in that dazzling light ! 
Christ's own love, — majestic, tender, — 

Makes my crimson snowy white ! 



NONQUIT. 

§UMMER has flashed her golden shuttle by 
My dreaming eye ; 
Its shining web of days, so soft and fair, 

Without a care. 
Is folding down into the silent past — 
Too bright to last ! 

"Night unto night" has told its peace serene, 

While Luna, queen. 
Paved her white, shimmering path above the deep, 

That stirred in sleep 
To lisp its dreaming bliss around the shore 

Forever more. 



Io8 THREADS OF GOLD 

"Day unto day " ushered its beauty in 
With happy din, 
Thrush and song sparrow twittering through the 
hours, 
While myriad flowers 
Bespangled dewy grass and fragrant wood, — 
And all was good. 

The odorous breeze wafted its music round — 

A varied sound. 
Called from the wild campaign ; the whistling 
quail 

The tern's shrill wail 
Answered afar ; and boomed from rock to rock 

The billows' shock. 

Here have I sat, without my cottage door. 

And watched the shore, 
Followed its curving line to where the town 

Lies, sloping down, 
Its clustering gems in simple beauty set — 

Fair Coronet ! 

And still along its amber thread of strand 

Stretches the land. 
Till the grim fortress at the harbor's mouth 

Looks threatening south. 
Yet hears no sound but dash of waves, that wet 

Its parapet ! 



BITS OF THINGS I09 

Then on and on the rippling waters spread, 

By cHfF and head ; 
By long, low neck and sunny-sanded isles 

The blue bay smiles, — 
Till, like a soul within the conscious seas, 

Sits Penekese. 

And to and fro the opal sails have sped, 

Or glimmered red 
The seven coast lights about the land-locked bay ; 

While night and day 
A broad, blue sky, with sun or star, has lit 

Light-bathed Nonquit. 

But now the slopes are shadowing with wings, — 

And southward swings 
The clamoring host of swallows o'er the sea. 

'Tis time for me 
To seek my closer eaves, and, sighing, fold 

This cloth of gold ! 



All are hot taken ! there are left behind 
Living beloveds, tender looks to bring 
And make the daylight still a happy thing. 

And tender voices to make soft the wind. 



E. B. Browning. 



no THREADS OF GOLD 



MY SCHOOL. 

American Tract Society. 

SAT in the school of Sorrow : 
The Master was teaching there, 
But my eyes were dim with weeping, 
And my heart oppressed with care. 



Instead of looking upward 

And seeing His face divine, 
So full of tender compassion 

For weary, sad hearts like mine, 

I only thought of the burden 
Of the cross that before me lay, 

Of the clouds that hung thick above me. 
Darkening the light of day. 

So I could not learn my lesson. 
And say " Thy will be done ; " 

And the Master came not near me 
As the leaden hours went on. 

At last, in despair, I lifted 

My streaming eyes above. 
And I saw the Master was watching 

With a look of pitying love. 



BITS OF THINGS III 

To the cross before me He pointed, 
And I thought I he'ard Him say, — 

" My child, thou must take thy burden, 
And learn thy task to-day. 

" Not now may I tell the reason : 

'Tis enough for thee to know 
That I, the Master, am teaching, 

And appoint thee all thy woe." 

Then, kneeling, the cross I lifted, 
For one glimpse of that face divine 

Had given me strength to bear it, 
And say, — " Thy will, not mine." 

And so I learned my lesson : 

And through the weary years 
His helping hand sustained me, 

And wiped away my tears. 

And ever the glorious sunlight 

From the heavenly home streams down, 

Till the school tasks all are ended. 

And the cross exchanged for the crown. 



112 THREADS OF GOLD 



A GLOVE. 

U H, yesterday I found a glove, — 
^i Grown shabby — full of tiny rips — 
But dear to me, because my love 

Once through it thrust her finger tips. 

A glove one would not care to see 

Upon his arm, in public street ; 
Yet here, I own, there is for me 

No relic in the world so sweet. 

A faint, far scent of lavender 

Steals from it — as the clover smelt 

When through the fields I walked with her, 
And plucked the blossoms for her belt. 

Faith ! but I loved the little hand 

That used to wear this time-stained thing: ! 

Its slightest gesture of command 
Would set my glad heart fluttering. 

Or if it touched my finger, so — 

Or smoothed my hair Why should I speak 

Of those old days ? It makes — d' you know ? — 

The tears brim over on mv cheek. 



BITS OF THINGS I13 

Poor, stained, worn-out, long-wristed glove ! 

I think it almost understands 
That reverently, and with love, 

I hold it in my trembling hands,— 

And that it is so dear to me, 

With its old fragrance, far and faint, 
Because my mothe7' wore it, — she, 

On earth my love, in heaven my saint. 



THE SECRET. 

H. B. Stowe. 

HEN winds are raging o'er the upper ocean. 
And billows wild contend with angry roar, 
'T is said, far down, beneath the wild commotion, 
That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore. 

Far, far beneath, the noise of tempest dieth, 
And silver waves chime ever peacefully ; 

And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth, 
Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea. 

So to the soul that knows Thy love, O Purest ! 

There is a temple peaceful evermore ; 
And all the bubble of life's angry voices 

Dies in hushed stillness at its sacred door. 



114 THREADS OF GOLD 

Far, far away the noise of passion dieth, 
And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully ; 

And no rude storm, how^ fierce soe'er it flieth. 
Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in Thee. 

O Rest of rests ! O Peace, serene, eternal ! 

Thou ever livest, and thou changest never ; 
And in the secret of Thy presence dwelleth 

Fulness of joy forever and forever. 



THE INTERCESSOR. 

pATHER, I bring this worthless child to Thee, 
® To claim Thy pardon once — yet once again : 
Receive him at my hands, for he is mine : 
He is a worthless child ; he owns his guilt. 
Look but on me ; I hide his filthy garments. 
He pleads not for himself — he dare not plead. 
His cause is mine ; I am his Intercessor. 
By that unchanged, unchanging oath of mine — 
By each pure drop of blood I shed for him — 
By all the sorrow graven on my soul — 
By every wound I bear — I claim it. 
Father Divine ! I would not have him lost. 
He is a worthless child, but he is mine. 



BITS OF THINGS II5 

Sin has destroyed him — I have borne his sins : 
Death has affrighted him, but I have conquered 

death. 
My Father, hear him now — not him, but me. 
I would not have him lost for all the worlds 
Thou hast long since created for my glory, 
Because he is a poor and worthless child, 
And all — his every hope — on me relies. 
I know my children, and I know him mine 
By all the tears he wept upon my bosom. 
By that full heart that beats against my own, 
That contrite anguish that my children know, 
By all the rights for outcast Israel, 
By all the prayers he breathes for Judah's sons. 
I know him by the signs my children bear, — 
That bursting love with which he clings to me. 
I could not bear to see him cast away, 
Vile as he is — the vilest of my flock — 
The one that grieves me most, that loves me least — 
Yea, though his sins should dim each speck of love. 
I measure not my love by his returns. 
And though the stripes I send to bring him home 
Should serve to drive him farther from my breast. 
Still he is mine ; — I loved him from the first. 
He has no right, no home, but in my love. 
Though earth and hell combined against him rise, 
I'm bound to rescue him, for he is mine ! 



Il6 THREADS OF GOLD 

O sinner ! what an Advocate hast thou ! 
Methinks I see Him lead the culprit in, — 
Poor, sorrowful, ashamed, trembling with fear, 
Shrinking behind his Lord, accused, condemned, 
Well pleased to hide the form himself abhors 
With that all-spotless garment of his Friend. 
And hear the Father's words : " For him, for Thee, 
My Son : his cause is Thine, and Thine is Mine. 
Take Thy poor, worthless child. He is forgiven ! '' 



"THEO." 

H. Lloyd Neale. 

^HE while I listened to the sounding glory 
I® Of the far-reaching sea, 

A mother's voice was telling the sweet story 

Of "Theo" unto me,— 
The tender, solemn story of sweet "Theo" unto me. 
How all her life was rounded into beauty ; 

And passing days 
But saw her treading higher slopes of duty 

And gladder ways, 
And how the springtime blossomed 'neath the ray 
Of love, which made an azure of her heaven. 

And round her threw 



BITS OF THINGS II7 

Soft shadows, such as glorify at even 

The drifting blue 
When dying sunlight sends spent arrows through ; 
And all the while the day was slowly paling 

Away from sight, — 
Yet on the sky a gold and sapphire railing 

Barred out the light. 



■fc>" 



A sweet, sad story — sweet in that recalling 

Beside the sea ; 
It seemed as though a lovely star were falling 

Away from me, 
A star whose unseen, trackless path was all eternity. 
For " Theo " died. Alas! the mournful meaning 

Athwart my soul 
Fell, like a shadow over all things leaning. 

And dirge and dole 
Thenceforth were surging in the wild waves' roll. 
Alas ! methought, life is a flickering taper, — 

And death may come 
To quench its flame as a mephitic vapor ; 

Then, cold and numb. 
In the drear darkness, Hope itself sits dumb : 
Nay, some sweet spirit whispered, as the glory 

Of the far-reaching sea 
Became a requiem and nienietito mori 

Of " Theo " unto me. 



Il8 THREADS OF GOLD 

God early sets His chosen angels free, 

And she was gathered, a sweet-odored blossom. 

While yet the dew 
Was lying, like a pearl, upon her bosom, 

And all the blue. 
Perpetual sunlight round about her threw ! 
Would ye have kept her till the winds had rifted 

The bud apart? 
And one by one the tender leaves had drifted, 

Leaving her heart 
Bare and unsheltered for the Archer's dart? 

Ye know not now ; ye may not hear the singing 

Of glad release ; 
How Death, the white-winged, unto her was bringing 

The boon of peace : 
Your lamb was folded with unspotted fleece. 
O father — mother — well I know the weeping 

Beneath the smile : 
Ye whisper, each to each, " So pure, so free from 

guile,— 
Why could it be?" Oh, God's mysterious dealing 

We may not scan. 
And Life and Death are wheels to carry out His 

plan. 
Then rest in this, the silent, inward teaching. 

E'en while ye weep ; 



BITS OF THINGS II9 

And ever, as your thoughts are upward reaching, 

The memory keep 
Of that sweet psalm, "God giveth His beloved 
sleep ! " 



TO THE MEMORY OF GRACE C. MELLEN. 

Lizzie N. Florer. 

T^ AST year, when blue violets bloomed, 
iS. You sent some blossoms to me ; — 
To-day you gather the lilies 

That bloom in eternity. 
Just one year since you, worn out with suffering. 

Most unselfishly thoughtful and sweet, 
Sent me the fond remembrance. 
Knowing how gladly I 'd greet 

The gift from the dear one, with whom 

I 'd passed many a happy hour 
Ere sickness had shadowed the household, 

Or blighted the fragile flower. 
So, oft when the twilight falleth. 

My thoughts will wander to thee, 
And I long for a glimpse, little friend. 

Of the face I used often to see. 



I20 THREADS OF GOLD 

No longer tortured by suffering 

That racked thee for so many years, 
But, beaming with heaven's splendor. 

Having smiles for the " droppings of tears,' 
Aye ! radiant as roseate morning, 

With never one throb of pain 
To suffer : but the happy heart beats 

To recall the olden strain. 

Clasping the hands of angels, 

Thou art soothed into perfect rest. 
While those in thy desolate household 

Are bereaved and sadly oppressed 
By the heavy load they must carry 

Till called to Paradise fair ; 
For night must blend with life's morning. 

And garland each heart with care. 



TO A LITTLE CHILD. 

Marian A. Murphy. 

|N LITTLE feet, before whose steps 
U The rugged path of life is laid, — 
Wilt stumble on the rough-hewn way? 
Wilt walk in sunshine, or in shade? 



BITS OF THINGS 121 

O little hands, so dimpled, white, 

Nestling in mother's loving clasp, 

Wilt stronger grow, to daily sow 

The kindly seed of thoughtful deed, 
Or drop in sin's relentless grasp? 

O little eyes, so w^onder-wise. 

So bright and clear, so full of cheer ; 

Wilt ever shine with light divine. 

Or tear-dimmed grow, and full of woe? 

O little lips, where love oft dips 

For honey-sips, so soft and sweet ; 

Wilt always be from guile as free? 

Wilt moan and sigh as days go by ? 

Or pass along, with happy song, 

Till all the world thy music greet? 

O little heart, shalt bear a part 
In toil and strife, and through this life 
Shalt weary go? Shalt sorrow know? 
Or stout and brave, shalt reach the grave, 
Thy work well done and victory won? 

O precious child, now undefiled ! 
God grant thee grace to run life's race. 
With feet and hands, eyes, lips, and heart 
For His own service set apart ! 



122 THREADS OF GOLD 

TO MARY ON HER TWELFTH BIRTHDAY. 

Edward A. Jenks. 

{N that far land where Jordan's silver stream 
Rolls onward, pensive, to the silent sea, 
Dwelt Mary, lovely as an angel's dream. 

The sweetest flower that bloomed in Galilee. 

So beautiful was she, so queenly fair. 
So full of purity and heavenly worth, 

The Father chose her from the maidens there 
To be the one beloved of all the earth. 



So, in the vale where Sugar River sings 
Its love-songs to the music of the bells. 

And all the throbbing air is full of wings 
Of bees and birds, another Mary dwells — 

My Alary, darling of her father's heart. 

The centre of a thousand hopes and fears ; — 

Through all her future life mav Heaven impart 
Love, joy, and peace, leaving no room for tears ! 



BITS OF THINGS 1 23 



SISTER. 



|[ISTER ! Oh, I love that name ! 
W Sweet as breath of morn to me, 
Sweeter far than voice of fame, 
Sweet as hite-Hke sound can be ! 

Sister ! Never lute has known 
From its silvery strings to part 

Softer, dearer, gentler tone, 

Than this music from the heart. 

Sister ! Let that name be heard 
In some dark and clouded hour ; 

Breathe it then — the soothing word : 
In it dwells a magic power. 

Sister ! Though it be in sadness. 
That fond name is doubly dear ; 

Yet it hath a sound of gladness — 
Fitting song, and not the tear. 

Sister ! Oh, 'tis sweet to link 

Holy thoughts with that dear name. 

Sister ! Yes, 'tis sweet to think 

Our bright heaven shall be the same. 



R. A. U. 



124 THREADS OF GOLD 

MY BIRD. 

ADDRESSED TO HER INFANT DAUGHTER. 

Emily C. Jiidson. 

W RE last year's moon had left the sky, 
iM A birdling sought my India nest, 
And folded, oh, so lovingly, 

Her tiny wings above my breast. 

From morn to evening's purple tinge, 
In winsome helplessness she lies ; 

Two rose leaves, with a silken fringe, 
Shut gently o'er her starry eyes. 

There 's not in Ind a lovelier bird ; 

Broad earth owns not a happier nest ! 
O God ! Thou hast a fountain stirred. 

Whose waters nevermore shall rest ! 

The pulse first caught its tiny stroke. 
The blood its crimson hue, from mine ; 

This life, which I have dared invoke, 
Henceforth is parallel with Thine. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 25 

A silent awe is in my room ; 

I tremble with delicious fear ; 
The future with its light and gloom, 

Time and eternity, are here ! 

I lift toward heaven my faith-lit eyes, — 
Hear, O my God, one earnest prayer : 

" Room for my bird in Paradise, 

And give her angel-plumage there ! " 



HEAVEN. 

|\H, heaven is nearer than mortals think, 
U When they look with a trembling dread 
At the misty future that stretches on 
From the silent home of the dead. 

'T is no lone isle on a boundless main, 

No brilliant but distant shore, 
Where the lovely ones who are called away 

Must go, to return no more. 

No, heaven is near us ; — the mighty veil 

Of mortality blinds our e3^e ; 
And we cannot see the angel bands 

On the shores of eternity. 



126 THREADS OF GOLD 

The eye that shuts in the dying hour 

Will open the next in bliss ; 
The welcome will sound in the heavenly world 

Ere the farewell is hushed in this. 

We pass from the clasp of mourning friends 
To the arms of the loved and lost ; 

And those smiling faces will greet us there, 
Which on earth we have valued most. 

Yet oft in the hours of holy thought, 

To the thirsting soul is given 
That power to pierce through the mist of sense 

To the beauteous scenes of heaven. 

Then very near seem its pearly gates. 

And sweetly its harpings fall, 
Till the soul is restless to soar away, 

And longs for the angels' call. 

I know when the silver cord is loosed. 

When the veil is rent away, 
Not long and dark shall the passage be, 

To the realm of endless day. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 27 



SONG OF THE SPARROW. 



Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgot- 
ten before. God ? . . . Fear not, therefore: ye are of more value than 
many sparrows. LuKExii:6, 7. 



'M only a little sparrow, 
A bird of low degree ; 
My life is of little value, 

But the dear Lord cares for me. 



He gives me a coat of feathers — 

It is very plain, I know, 
Without a speck of crimson : 

For 't was not made for show. 

But it keeps me warm in winter. 
And it shields me from the rain : 

Were it bordered with gold and purple, 
Perhaps it would make me vain. 

And now that the spring-time cometh, 
I will build me a little nest, 

With many a chirp of pleasure. 
In the spot I like the best. 



128 THREADS OF GOLD 

I have no barn nor storehouse ; 

I neither sow, nor reap ; 
God gives me a sparrow's portion, 

And never a seed to keep. 

If my meat is sometimes scanty. 
Close picking makes it sweet ; 

I have always enough to feed me, 
And life is more than meat. 

I know there are many sparrows — - 
All over the world they are found ; 

But our Heavenly Father knoweth 
When one of us falls to the ground. 

Though small, we are never forgotten ; 

Though weak, we are never afraid : 
For we know that the dear Lord keepeth 

The life of the creatures He made. 

I fly through the thickest forest ; 

I alight on many a spray ; 
I have no chart nor compass. 

But I never lose my way. 

I just fold my wings at nightfall 

Wherever I happen to be ; 
For the Father is always watching, 

And no harm can happen to me. 



BITS OF THINGS I2( 

I am only a little sparrow, 

A bird of low degree ; 
But I know that the Father loves me — 

Dost thou know His love for thee? 



THE PITMAN TO HIS WIFE. 

Dora Greenwell. 

vIT ye down on the settle here by me, I've got 

P something to say to thee, wife ; 

I want to be a new sort of a man, and to lead a new 
sort of a life. 

There 's but little pleasure and little gain in spend- 
ing the days I spend. 

Just to work like a horse all the days of my life, 
and to die like a dog at the end. 

For where 's the profit, and where 's the good, if one 

once begins to think, 
In making away with what little sense one had at 

the first, through drink .-^ 
Or in spending one's time, and one's money too 

with a lot of chaps that would go 
To see you hanged, and like it, too, as well as any 

other kind of show ? 



130 THREADS OF GOLD 

And as for the pleasure that some folks find in cards, 

or in pitch and toss, 
It's little they've ever brought to me but only a 

vast of loss. 
We 'd be sure to light on some great dispute, and 

then, to set all right. 
The shortest way was to argue it out in a regular 

stand-up fight. 

I 've got a will, dear wife, I say I 've got a will to be 
A kinder father to my poor bairns, and a better man 

to thee ; 
And to leave off' drinking and swearing and all, no 

matter what folks may say ; 
For I see what's the end of such things as these, 

and I know this is not the way. 

You '11 wonder to hear me talk like this, as I 've 

never talked before. 
But I've got a word in my heart that has made it 

glad, and yet has made it sore ; 
I 've got a word, like a fire in my heart, that will 

not let me be, — 
"Jesus, the Son of God, who loved, and who gave 

Himself for me." 

I Ve got a word, like a sword in my heart, that has 
pierced me through and through. 



BITS OF THINGS 131 

When a message comes to a man from heaven, he 

need n't to ask if its true. 
There 's none on earth could frame such a tale, for 

as strange as the tale may be, — 
Jesus, my Saviour, that Thou should'st die for love 

of a man like me ! 

Why, only think now^, if it had been Peter, or blessed 
Paul, 

Or John, who used to lean on His breast, one 
could n't have v^^ondered at all 

If He 'd loved and He 'd died for men like these, 
who loved Him so well, — but you see 

It was me that Jesus loved, wife ! He gave Him- 
self for me ! 

It was for me that Jesus died, — for me, and a world 

of men 
Just as sinful and just as slow to give back His love 

again. 
He didn't wait till I came to Him, but He loved 

me at my worst ; 
He needn't ever have died for me if I could have 

loved Him first. 

Oh, couldst Thou love such a man as me, my Sav- 
iour.? Then I '11 take 



132 THREADS OF GOLD 

More heed to this perishing soul of mine, if its only 

for Thy sake ; 
For it wasn't that I might spend my days just in 

work, and in drink, and in strife, 
That Jesus, the Son of God, has given His love, 

and has given His life ! 

It wasn't that I might spend my life just as my 

life 's been spent 
That He 's brought me so near to His mighty cross, 

and has told me what it meant. 
He does n't need me to die for Him : He only asks 

me to live ! 
There's nothing of mine that He wants but my 

heart, and that's all that I've got to give. 

I 've got a Friend, dear wife, I say I 've got a heaven- 
ly Friend, 

That will show me when I go astray, and will help 
me how to mend ; 

That will make me better to my poor bairns, that'll 
make me better to thee : 

Jesus, the Son of God, who loved and who gave 
Himself for me. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 33 

A FAREWELL. 

By S. S., 1829. 

fAREWELL to the land where so long I have 
cherished 
The hope that my days might be peacefully num- 
bered : 
Now, alas ! the bright vision has fled and has per- 
ished 
Ere my summer has sped, or my autumn has slum- 
bered. 

Perhaps in a far distant land I may languish. 

Vainly look with regret to my friends in the West, 

Whose hearts would in sympathy share all my an- 
guish, 
And waft the tired soul to its haven of rest. 

The hand of a stranger has offered a dwelling ; 

His countenance, beaming with candor and love, 
Invites us to come, while our bosoms are swelling 

With gratitude, raised to the Father above. 



134 THREADS OF GOLD 



MOTTO IN A WEDDING RING. 

■ra" LOVER gave the wedding ring 
v^[ Into the goldsmith's hand. 
" Grave me," he said, '* a tender thought 
Within this golden band." 
The goldsmith graved. 
With careful art, 
"Till death us part." 

So up the hill and down the hill, 
Through fifty changing years, 
They shared each other's happiness. 
They dried each other's tears. 
Alas ! alas ! 
That death's cold dart 
Such love can part ! 

But one sad day she stood alone 

Beside his narrow bed : 
She drew the ring from off her hand, 
And to the goldsmith said, — 
" O man, who graved, 

With careful art, 
* Till death us part,' 



BITS OF THINGS 1 35 

" Now grave four other words for me, — 
' Till death us join.' " He took 
The precious golden band once more, 
With solemn, wistful look, 
And wrought with care, 
For love, not coin, 
"Till death us join." 

'Twas she that lifted now his hand, 

(O love, that this should be !) 
Then on it placed the golden band. 
And whispered tenderly, — 
" Till death us join, 
Lo, thou art mine 
And I am thine ! 

"And when death joins, we nevermore 
Shall know an aching heart ; 
The bridal of that better love 
Death has no power to part. 
That troth will be, 
For thee and me, 
Eternity." 



136 THREADS OF GOLD 

WALKING IN WHITE. 

§LORD, my God ! 't is early dawn, 
And I would walk with Thee to-day ; 
Clothe me in garments white and clean, 

All bright and beautiful, I pray. 
Grant I may walk with greatest care, 
So I may keep their lustre bright : 
To-day, my Father, hear my prayer. 
And let me walk with Thee in white. 

The road was thorny yesterday. 

Because I walked so far from Thee, 
Yet oft I heard Thee kindly say. 

Come nearer, child, come near to Me. 
With garments soiled on yester eve, 

I grieved to view the painful sight : 
To-day, my Father, oh, reprieve. 

And let me walk with Thee in white. 

Now may I plunge within the tide — 

That fount for all our guilt and woe, 
Once opened in my Saviour's side ; 

'T will make my garments white as snow. 
With hands and feet, with head and heart, 

All clean and pure before Thy sight, 
Not for one moment. Lord, depart, 

But let me walk with Thee in white. 



BITS OF THINGS 137 

No thought, no word, no deed to-day, 

Which may displease my blessed Lord ; 
No idle loitering by the way, 

But simply trusting in Thy word. 
Whate'er my hands may find to do, 

That may I do with all my might ; 
To-day, my Father, pure and true, 

Grant T may walk with Thee in white. 

The failures of the yesterday, 

The cares which may to-morrow come. 
Each tear, each fear now chase away. 

And guide me on my journey home. 
And when the evening shadows fall, 

And I come bending in Thy sight. 
Then may I feel,— my God, my all, — 

That I have walked with Thee in white. 

And can I walk each day with Thee, 

With robes all white, and pure, and clean? 
Oh tell me. Saviour, can I flee. 

Forever from that monster. Sin ? 
I know that in our home above. 

Thy saints, in all their full delight. 
Shall bask within redeeming love. 

And always walk with Thee in white ! 



138 THREADS OF GOLD 



GLORIFIED. 

^^'^TOT changed, but glorified!" O beauteous Ian- 
J^ guage 

For those who weep, 
Mourning the loss of some dear face departed, — 

Fallen asleep : 
Hushed into silence — nevermore to comfort 

The hearts of men ; 
Gone, like the sunshine of another country, 

Beyond our ken. 

O dearest dead ! we saw thy white soul shining 

Behind the face 
Bright with the beauty and celestial glory 

Of an immortal grace. 
What wonder that we stumble, faint and weeping, 

And sick with fears, 
Since Thou hast left us all alone with sorrow 

And blind with tears ! 



Can it be possible no words shall welcome 

Our coming feet? 
How will it took, that face that we have cherished, 

When next we meet? 



BITS OF THINGS 1 39 

Will it be changed, so glorified and saintly, 

That we shall know it not? 
Will there be nothing that shall say, " I love thee," 

And " I have not forgot " ? 

O faithless heart ! the same loved face, transfigured 

Shall meet thee there, 
Less sad, less wistful, in immortal beauty 

Divinely fair. 
The mortal veil, washed pure with many weepings. 

Is rent away ; 
And the great soul that sat within its prison 

Hath found the day. 

In the clear morning of that other country — 

In Paradise — 
With the same face that we have loved and cherished. 

She shall arise ! 
Let us be patient, we who mourn, with weeping, 

Some vanished face : 
The Lord has taken, but to add more beauty 

And a diviner grace. 

And WG shall find once more beyond earth's sorrows, 

Beyond these skies, 
In the faircity of the " sure foundations " 

Those heavenly eyes, 



140 THREADS OF GOLD 

With the same welcome shining through their sweet- 
ness 

That met us here, — 
Eyes from whose beauty God has banished weeping, 

And wiped away the tear. 

Think of us, dearest one, while o'er life's waters 

We seek the land. 
Missing thy voice, thy touch, and the true helping 

Of thy pure hand, 
Till, through the storm and tempest safely anchored, 

Just on the other side, 
We find thy dear face, looking through death's shad- 
ows, 

" Not changed — but glorified." 



LINES WRITTEN IN GRIEF. 

" Oh, leave us in a world of sin, unrest, and trouble — to be sad! " 

SPAKE, and thought to weep, — 
A settled grief to keep : 

When, lo ! as day from night — 
As day from out the breast of night forlorn — 
So was that gladness from that sorrow born, 
E'en in mine own despite. 



BITS OF THINGS I41 

Yet was not that by this 
Excluded ; at the coming of that joy 
Fled not that grief, nor did that grief destroy 

The newly risen bliss. 

But side by side they flow. 
Two fountains flowing from one smitten heart, 
And ofttimes scarcely to be known apart, — 

That gladness and that woe. 

And both are sweet and calm, 
And flowers upon the banks of either blow ; 
Both fertilize the soul, and where they flow, 

Shed round them holy balm ! 



SCRAP. 

Dr. Clark. 

%JlS blessed angel. Sorrow — she hath walked 
.'^[ For years beside, and we two have talked 
As chosen friends together ; — thus I know 
Trouble and Sorrow are not near of kin. 
Trouble distrusteth God, and ever wears 
Upon her brow the seal of anxious cares, — - 

But Sorrow oft hath deepest peace within : 
She sits with patience in perpetual calm, 
Waiting for Heaven to send the healing balm. 



142 THREADS OF GOLD 



REGRET. 



Jean Ingelow. 



§THAT word Regret ! 
There have been nights and morns when we have 
sighed, 
" Let us alone, Regret ! we are content 
To throw thee all our past, so thou wilt sleep 
For aye." But it is patient, and it wakes ; 
It hath not learned to cry itself to sleep, 
But plaineth on the bed that it is hard. 

We did amiss when we did wish it gone 
And over : sorrows humanize our race ; 
Tears are the showers that fertilize this world, 
And memory of things precious keepeth warm 
The heart that once did hold them. 

They are poor 
That have lost nothing ! they are poorer far 
Who, losing, have forgotten ; they most poor 
Of all, who lose and wish they might forget. 
For life is one, and in its warp and woof 
There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair, 
And sometimes in the pattern shows most sweet 
Where there are sombre colors. It is true 
That we have wept. But oh, this thread of gold — 



BITS OF THINGS 1 43 

We would not have it tarnish ! Let us turn 
Oft and look back upon the wondrous web, 
And when it shineth, sometimes we shall know 
That memory is possession ! 



When I remember something which I had, 
But which is gone, and I must do without, 

I sometimes wonder how I can be glad. 
Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout ; 

It makes me sigh to think on it, — but yet 

My days will not be happy days, should I forget ! 

II. 

When I remember something promised me. 
But which I never had, nor can have now, 

Because the promiser we no more see 

In countries that accord with mortal vow, — 

When I remember this, I mourn, — but yet 

My happier days are not the days when I forget. 



T iTiatters little at what hour of day 

The righteous fall asleep ; — death cannot come 
To him untimely who is fit to die. 



■Milnii 



144 THREADS OF GOLD 

THE CHRISTIAN MARINER. 

'Yp AUNCH thy bark, mariner ! 
l/l'f Christian, God speed thee ! 
Let loose the rudder bands, — 

Good angels lead thee ! 
Set thy sails warily, 

Tempests may come ; 
Steer thy course steadily. 
Christian, steer home ! 

Look to the weather bow ! 

Breakers are round thee ; 
Let fall the plummet now ! 

Shallows may ground thee. 
Reef in the foresail there ! 

Hold the helm fast ! 
So — let the vessel wear ; 

There swept the blast ! 

What of the night, watchman? 

What of the night? 
Cloudy, — all's quiet, — 

No land yet — all's right. 
Be watchful ! be vigilant ! 

Dangers may be 
At an hour when all seemeth 

Securest to thee. 



BITS OF THINGS 145 

How gains the leak so fast? 

Clear out the hold ! 
Hoist up the merchandise, — 

Heave out the gold ! 
There ! let the ingots go ! 

Now the ship rights. 
Courage ! the harbor 's near ; 

Lo ! the red lights ! 

Slacken not sail yet 

At inlet or island ; 
Straight for the beacon steer, — 

Straight for the highland ! 
Crowd all thy canvas on ! 

Cut through the foam ! 
Christian, cast anchor now ! 

Heaven is thy home I 



THE STORY OF SIR ARNULPH. 

Selected by M. H. G. 

'D' N earnest man, in long forgotten years, 
^M\ Relieved the maladies and staunched the tears 
Of pining multitudes who sought his aid 

When death their homesteads threatened to invade. 
10 



146 THREADS OF GOLD 

Blest with one only son (a gentle youth, 
Trained in the fear of God and love of truth), 
He fondly hoped that Arnulph might aspire 
Disease and death to baffle, like his sire. 

But the boy, musing gloomily apart. 

Avowed at length the impulse of his heart : 

" To some calm cloister, father, I would go. 

And there serve God." His father answered, " No. 

" Thou doest well to wish to serve the Lord, 
By thy whole life imperfectly adored ; 
But choose thy work amid the world, and then 
Thou canst serve God and bless thy fellow-men." 

The boy, still yearning to achieve his plan. 
Spake, — " It were better to serve God than man." 
" Pray God for help," the father said, " and He 
Will solve the riddle of thy doubt to thee." 

So Arnulph to his chamber went, and prayed 
That in his doubts the Lord would give him aid ; 
And in a vision of the silent night 
A phantom stood before him clothed in white — 
A form for earth too beautiful and grand, 
With crimson roses blooming in each hand. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 47 

And Arnulph asked the angel, "Are these flowers 
Fresh culled from Eden's amaranthine bowers?" 
He answered, " Nay, — these offerings are from all 
Whom God the doers of His will doth call." 
"And can I offer nothing? " sighed the boy. 
" May I not also serve the Lord with joy ? " 
'' Surely thou may'st," replied tlifc seraph fair ; 
"In my left hand behold thy gift I bear." 

Then Arnulph " I pray thee tell me why ; 

In thy left hand the flowers all scentless lie, 

But in thy right they yield a gracious smell. 

Which long within the conscious sense may dwell ! " 

The angel answered, with pathetic tone, 

" In my left hand I bear the gifts alone 

Of those who worship God, the sire above, 

But for His children testify no love ; 

While these sweet roses, which shall ne'er grow wan, 

Come from the lovers of both God and man." 

The vision faded. Arnulph cried, — "Alas ! 

My soul was blinded ! " And so it came to pass 

That the changed boy a cloister entered not. 

But with God's working men took part and lot. 



148 THREADS OF GOLD 

LEGEND OF THE BEAUTIFUL HAND. 

7^ HERE was a dispute among three ladies as to 
(p which had the most beautiful hand. One sat by 
a stream and dipped her hand into the water and 
held it up ; another plucked strawberries until the 
ends of her fingers were pink ; and another gathered 
violets until her hands were fragrant. An old and 
haggard woman passing by, asked, — 

"Who will give me a gift, for I am poor?" 

All three denied her ; but another, who sat near, 
unwashed in the stream, unstained with fruit, un- 
adorned with flowers, gave her a little gift, and satis- 
fied the poor woman. And then she asked them 
what was the dispute. They told her, and lifted up 
before her their beautiful hands. 

"Beautiful indeed," said she, when she saw them. 
But when they asked her which was the most beauti- 
ful, she said, — 

"It is not the hand that is washed in the brook ; it 
is not the hand that is tipped with red ; it. is not the 
hand that is garlanded with fragrant flowers, — but the 
hand that gives to the poor is the most beautiful." 

As she said these words her wrinkles fled, her staff' 
was thrown away, and she stood before them an angel 
from heaven, with authority to decide the question in 
dispute. And that decision has stood the test of all time. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 49 

FRAGMENT. 

George Macdonald. 

ND should the. twilight darken into night, 

And sorrow grow to anguish, be thou strong ; 

Thou art in God, and nothing can go wrong 
Which a fresh life-pulse cannot set aright : 
That thou dost know the darkness, proves the light. 

Weep if thou wilt, but weep not all too long ; 

Or weep and work, for work will lead to song. 

And do not fear to hope. 



Each time we smell the autumn's dying scent. 

We know the primrose time will come again : 
Not more we hope, nor less would soothe our 
pain. 

Be bounteous in thy faith, for not misspent 

Is confidence unto the Father lent : 

Thy need is sown and rooted for His rain. 



Work on. One day, beyond all thoughts of praise, 
A sunny joy will crown thee with its rays, — 
No other than thy need, thy recompense. 



150 THREADS OF GOLD 

THY LOVING-KINDNESS. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 

§ITTING alone in the shadow 
Of a grief that was all my own, — 
Silently thinking it over, 

Silently making a moan, — 
Sudden there swept the music 
Of a gladness great and deep 
Over the chords of feeling, 
Till my heart forgot to weep. 

" Because of Thy loving-kindness : " 

The words stole into my brain. 
Like a cool hand soothing its fever, 

And charming away the pain. 
Because of Thy loving-kindness. 

Better than life to me. 
My life shall be keyed to the measure 

Of praise unchecked and free. 

Not always the path is easy : 

There are thickets hung with gloom ; 

There are rough and stony places, 
Where never the roses bloom ; 



BITS OF THINGS 151 

But oft when the way is hardest, 
I am conscious of One at my side 

Whose hands and whose feet are wounded, 
And I 'm happy and safe with my Guide. 

Better than friends and kindred, 

Better than love and rest, 
Dearer than hope and triumph, 

Is the name I wear on my breast. 
I feel my way through the shadows 

With a confident heart and brave ; 
I shall live in the light beyond them, 

I shall conquer death and the grave. 

Often when tried and tempted. 

Often ashamed of sin, 
That, strong as an armed invader, 

Has made wreck of the peace within, — 
That wonderful loving-kindness, 

Patient, and full, and free. 
Has stooped for my consolation. 

Has brought a blessing to me. 

Therefore my lips shall praise Thee ; 

Therefore, let come what may. 
To the height of a solemn gladness 

My song shall arise to-day. 



152 THREADS OF GOLD 

Not on the drooping willow 

Shall I hang my harp in the land, 

When the Lord Himself has cheered me 
By the touch of His pierced hand. 



WHY? 



SOMETIMES how near you are, 
p Sometimes how dear you are ; 

Then, then, so far — so far — 

Like some far star you are. 

Sometimes, through you, through you, 
I see the gray sky blue. 
And feel the warmth of May 
In the December day. 

Sometimes, sometimes, I let 
All burdens fall — forget 
All cares, and every fear. 
In your sweet atmosphere. 

Then, then, alas ! alas ! 
Why does it come to pass? 
Before the hour goes by. 
Before my dream doth die, 



BITS OF THINGS 153 

I drift and drift away 
Out of your light of day, 
Out of your warmth and cheer, 
Your blessed atmosphere. 

Wh}'^ does it come to pass ? 
Alas ! and still alas ! 
Why doth the world prevail, 
Why doth the spirit fail, 

And hide itself away 
Behind its wall of clay. 
Since time began — alas ! 
Why does it come to pass? 



LIFE IDEALS. 

WHERE the woods and meadows meet, 
Seeking May-time blossoms sweet, 
Little Effie's dainty feet 
Lightly stray, — 
Where the elm tree's shadow passes 
O'er the flower-scented grasses. 

By the brooklet's silver way. 



154 THREADS OF GOLD 

April buds are blooming yet, 

And the tender violet 

Lifts its blue cup, dewy wet, 

Toward the sun ; 
From the nests in willows swinging 
Comes the prelude low of singing 

From the bird-life just begun. 

Resting by the dimpled tide, 
Where the tiny beck grows wide, 
And the pendent branches hide — 

Qiiiet nook — 
In the fringe of light and shadow, 

Effie sits, with dreamy look. 

Fairy wind-bells, two and two. 
On the breezes swing their blue, — 
Golden sun-beams streaming through, 

Round her shine ; 
And the light clouds sail above her 
White as angel forms that hover 

Twixt the human and divine. 

Overhead the May boughs cross, 
And from leafy, green homes toss 
To the starry depth of moss 
Blossoms down ; 



BITS OF THINGS 1 55 

But to dream-life just awaking, 
In the silence she was making 

Sweetest pictures, all her own. 

Clear and calm, her hazel eyes 
Hold a look half sad, half wise ; 
What sweet life-veiled prophecies 

Do they hide? 
What bright boons do dream-gods render 
To that life so pure and tender 

Opening on the sunny side ? 

" I am happy," murmured she, 
" For the nestling birds are three, 
Swinging in the hawthorn tree. 

Just anear ; 
And I know where buds are blowing. 
Where the violets are growing, 

And where daffodils appear. 

"But when autumn days are nigh. 
When the blossoms droop and die, 
Birds of summer southward fly. 

One by one. 
To the far off sunny bowers. 
To the rice fields and the flowers, 

Underneath a warmer sun. 



156 THREADS OF GOLD 

" E'en the brook, with murmured hymn, 
Floweth to the meadow's rim, 
Floweth to the blue hills dim. 

On and on, — 
Till I sometimes long to follow, 
Through the reedy marshy hollow. 

To the wide, wide world beyond. 

" When my years are six times three, 
Happier still I then shall be, 
In the farther earth to see 

More and more. 
I will search beyond the granges. 
And the misty blue hill ranges. 

To the sunset's golden door. 

"Life is strange ! I do not know 
Where the rippling waters flow, 
W^hy the sunny summers go. 

It may be. 
In the far oft' future gleaming, 
I shall find the great world's meaning 

And my unknown destiny." 

Robin seeks his leafy nest ; 
Dewy blossoms, folded, rest ; 
Low adown the gorgeous west 
Sinks the sun. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 57 

Far above the fading splendor 
Shines the starlight, calm and tender, 
With a Father's benison. 

Elms, in greener beauty dressed. 
On the thorn a milk-white crest. 
From the song-birds out of nest 

Fuller tune, — 
O'er the sunny slopes and meadows 
Brighter gold and deeper shadows 

In the mellow light of June. 

On the reedy, mossy shore. 
With the lindens closing o'er, 
Eflie pondereth once more 

Life's young dream. 
Three times three have blossoms faded. 
Three times three the leaves have shaded 

Grassy bank and meadow stream. 

Life hath harder lessons taught. 
Sunny hair hath shadows caught, 
Hazel eyes show deeper thought, — 

Tearful now ; 
And that slightest shade of sadness, 
Which is sometimes born of gladness, 

Rests upon her maiden brow. 



158 THREADS OF GOLD 

Doth a shadow, dim and brief, 
Of some far off hidden grief 
Cross the sunlight of belief, 

Shining clear? 
As she dreams of joy and splendor 
Which the future years will render, 

Doth there come a doubt or fear? 

Murmurs she, " Sweet fancies flown, 
Life hath fuller, deeper grown ; 
Still I see, in the Unknown, 

Visions high, 
And my heart is ever burning 
With a strange and restless yearning 

That I may not satisfy. 

" Angel of the starry wing. 
With thy promise glittering, 
Bid this phantom Future bring 

Joy or strife. 
Through the mysteries and changes 
I would rise to wider ranges, 

And a nobler, better life. 

" Though my fortune smile or frown, 
I would win a pure renown ; 
Fame with laurel wreath shall crown 
Deeds of earth ; 



BITS OF THINGS 1 59 

I shall know the blessed sweetness, 
Unity and full completeness, 

Of a life of truest worth. 

'^ One grand purpose shall control 
Every power of my soul. 
Till it reach the shining goal, 

Bravel}^ won. 
When earth's stronger hearts are heeding 
Our humanity's sad pleading 

For a life-work nobly done. 

" One frail human bark is mine, 
And, with spirit touch divine, 
I would add one hallowed line 

To earth's song. 
In the life-depth of a nation. 
Only one self-abnegation 

Sometimes turns the tide of wrong. 

" From my fears, that earthward cling, 
Come the heart-hopes, all awing. 
As the vernal blossoms spring 

From the sod. 
Be the life-path high or lowly. 
Dreams and action make it holy 

With the blessed peace of God. 



l6o THREADS OF GOLD 

" Father, I would come to Thee, 
Evermore my guide to be, 
For the life Thou gavest me 

Is Thine own. 
Grant me strength for every hour. 
Will to conquer, — grace and power 

For the way Thy light hath shown. 

In the far off western skies 
Melt the sunset's gorgeous dyes ; 
On the verge of twilight lies 

Day's decline ; 
Far above the fading splendor 
Shines the starlight, calm and tender, 

With a holy strength divine. 

Summer's sunny days have flown. 
Autumn winds breathe sadder tone, 
From afar the partridge lone 

Pipes her song ; 
Over meads, in sunlight sleeping. 
Over corn-fields ripe for reaping. 

One stray swallow wheels along. 

Where the meadows meet the wood, 
Effie, in her womanhood, 
Muses in a deeper mood. 
Backward flow 



BITS OF THINGS l6l 

Thoughts that fuller hope have lifted, 
By a sweet abstraction drifted 

To the dreams of long ago. 

Fifty summers since have sped ; 
Golden locks with silver wed ; 
Where the shadows overspread 

Winds her way ; 
But life's stilly twilight hour, 
With its calm and holy power. 

Is iwx sweeter than the day. 

Murmurs she, — " Life dreams vs^ere bright. 
With no tinge of shadow-blight, 
Bringing, in its dreary night, 

Care and woe : 
But the happy youthful dreaming 
Was, alas ! too fond a seeming 

To be realized below. 

" Hope fulfilled I sought to find 
In my life-path, dimly lined. 
For I thought I saw it wind 

Clearly through. 
But the long, long years have taught me, 
By the sorrow they have brought me, 

That my w^ay and God's were two. 
11 



1 62 THREADS OF GOLD 

^' In the mingled doubts and fears 
Of the swiftly vanished years, 
In the misty rain of tears, 

I have found 
Not the bright and sweet ideal, 
But the strong and bitter real, 

With the present compassed round ! 

" But from all the bitter-sweet 
Of a life-work incomplete, 
In my heart this lesson meet 

Is enshrined : 
God His finite plans doth fashion 
With an infinite compassion, 

And a purpose ever kind. 

" Though we may not lift the screen 
From the mysteries unseen, 
And the mystic bond between 

Life and Death ; 
Yet God willeth, and God knoweth : 
All His love around us floweth. 

And the key of life is Faith. 

" How the seeming good and ill 
Of our being shall fulfil 
His own tender, loving will 
Is not shown. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 63 

Starry hopes are ever fleeting, 
Life ideals want completing, 

And the meaning is unknown. 

" When we touch the shining strand 
Where the waiting angels stand. 
In the far oft' Fatherland, 

We shall know, 
In the happiness unending 
Of a blissful comprehending. 

What our life-work meant below. 

" In the fulness, deep and wide, 
Weary souls, by sorrow tried, 
Knowing, shall be satisfied 

In His rest : 
Finding, in the perfect sweetness 
Of an infinite completeness. 

That God's ways are always best. 

" In the sunset's crimson glow 
Gleams the white clouds' fleecy snow ; 
Twilight murmurings below 

Softly cease ; 
Far above the fading splendor 
Shines the starlight, calm and tender. 

With a holy love and peace ! " 



164 THREADS OF GOLD 

THE CHILDREN. 

Ed-ward A. Jenks. 

fHE children— O the children !— 
How dark the world, and gloomy, 
How wide, and cold, and roomy. 

To the mother's loving heart, 
Did not the breezes waft her 
The songs and merry laughter 
Of the blessed, blessed children ! 

The children— O the children I— 
How the sun would pale his glory. 
And the beautiful in story 

Die out of all the lands. 
Could they not hear us calling. 
When the twilight dews are falling. 

Come home — come home, O children ! 

The children— O the children !— 
Very sweet the sacred pages. 
Floating down through all the ages, 

Telling of the Christ-child born 
Where the mild-eyed oxen ponder. 
With a sort of wistful wonder. 

O'er the Prince of all the children ! 



BITS OF THINGS 1 65 

The children— O the children !— 
See them blood-red roses strowing 
In the path where Christ is going 

To Jerusalem the doomed : 
See them wave their cool green banners ; 
Hear them shout their glad hosannas 

To the Saviour of the children ! 



SHE AND I. 

SAID, " She is dead." I could not brook 
Again on that marvellous face to look ! 

But they took my hand, and led me in. 
And left me with her of my dearest kin. 

And I could not speak, and I could not stir, 
But I stood, and with love I gazed on her : 

With love, and rapture, and strange surprise, 
I looked on the lips and the close-shut eyes, — 

On the perfect rest, and the calm content, 
And the peace that were in her features blent, 



1 66 THREADS OF GOLD 

And the thin white hands that had wrought so much, 
Now nerveless to kisses or fevered touch, — 

My beautiful dead, who had left the strife. 
The pain, and the grieving that we call life, — 

Who had never faltered beneath her cross, 

Nor murmured when loss followed swift on loss ; 

And the smile that sweetened her face alway 
Lay light on her blessed mouth that day. 

I smoothed from her hair a silver thread. 
And I wept, but I could not make her — dead ! 

I felt, with a feeling too deep for speech. 

She could teach me only what angels teach, — 

x\nd down to her lips I leaned my ear. 

Lest there might be something I could not hear. 

Then out of the silence between us stole 
A message from her to my inmost soul : 

"Why weep you to-day, who have wept before 
That the road was rough I must journey o'er? 

"Why weep you, whose tears'have been used to fall 
That I could not gather earth's sweetness all ? 



BITS OF THINGS 1 67 

"Why mourn that you come, and T greet you not? 
Now anguish and sorrow are both forgot. 

" Behold ! all my life I have longed for rest, 
Yea, e'en when I held you against my breast ; 

" And now that I lie in a breathless sleep, 
Instead of rejoicing, you sigh and weep. 

" My dearest, I know that you would not break, 
If you could, my slumber, and have me wake, 

" For, though what is past, I can love and bless : 
Till now I have never known happiness." 

So I dried my tears, and, w^ith noiseless tread, 
I lefC my mother — my beautiful dead ! 



HERE AND THERE. 

g/^E sit beside the lower feast to-day, 
^ She at the higher ; 

Our voices falter, as we bend to pray ; 
In the great choir 

Of happy saints, she sings and does not tire. 



1 68 THREADS OF GOLD 

We break the bread of patience, and the wine 

Of tears we share ; 
She tastes the vintage of the glorious Vine 

Whose branches fair 
Set for the healing of the nations are. 

I wonder, — Is she sorry for our pain? 

Or if, grown wise. 
She wond'ring smiles, and counts them idle, vain, 

These heavy sighs, 
These longings for her face, and happy eyes? 

Smile on, then, darling ! As God wills is best ; 

We loose our hold. 
Content to leave thee to the deeper rest — 

The safer fold — 
To joy's immortal youth, while we grow old. 

Content the cold and wintry day to bear, 

The icy wave, 
And know thee in perpetual summer there 

Beyond the grave : 
Content to give thee to the love that gave. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 69 



LIFE IN DEATH. 



E. M. B. 



^j^EAR, should'st thou stand beside my coffined 

\MJ head, 

Sorrowful and mute to know that I am dead, 

And tears fall because I look not up to thee 

As I have looked, thine answering face to see, — 

And the rush of mem'ries old 

On thy spirit take such hold 

That new pain shall enter in 

At the thought of what we've been, — 
I'd speak to thee some sweet word while I may. 
That shall prove helpful on that bitter day. 

And, dear, this first, — that it will easier be 
P'or thee to look on me than I on thee 
In cerement and shroud, for thou hast been 
So much to me : my heart would break within. 

And to save me pain, I know 

Thou would'st rather have it so. 

Then do thou look, and not refuse 

What we both in life did choose ; 
But be comforted, and glad to think that we. 
One in life and one in death, do still agree. 



lyo THREADS OF GOLD 

And, dear, remember that I 've gone to be 
With Him whose face I have so longed to see ; 
That though I lie so still while thou dost grieve, 
I am alive — have just begun to live. 

life ! thou art strange, thou art sweet : 
Thou comest forth from death more meet, 
More rich and full and grand and free 
Than when death's hand was laid on thee. 

From the dead wheat beneath thou yet art seen 
In nobler form of waving, beauteotis green. 

And, dear, remember, in that upper life 
Where I am gone, beyond the sin and strife. 
In blest companionship that shall be mine. 
In joy and work, the glad, unnoted time, 

1 shall think of thee, and wait 
For thy coming, soon or late. 
This is what I now would say 
For thy help on that sad day : 

And thus in death, as in the life gone by, 
Reach out my hand to thee from where I lie. 



BITS OF THINGS 171 

LAY OF A SILVER BRIDAL, 
JUNE, 1868, 

' OR 

THE TWO BRIDALS. 

Dedicated to the Two Brides. 
" The Bride of 1843." 
"The Bride of 1868." 

Bridal Lay. 

Part I. 
To the Bridegroom and Bride of\%\T,. 

jTUNE'S bridal light is o'er the world 
0/ In glancing rainbow gleams. 
And o'er a hundred happy hearts 

Hope's morning radiance streams. 
The silver light is on our hearts, 

She sings her silver lay ; 
And love blooms out in silver gifts 
On this silver wedding day. 

Just five and twenty years ago 

Two voyagers set sail : 
" For better or for worse " — their pledge, — 

For storm, or favoring gale ! 



172 THREADS OF GOLD 

A hundred ships set sail that day 

On the matrimonial sea : 
Hope freighted all, none knowing what 

Their future course might be. 
Bright banners floating, white sails set, 

Songs ringing o'er the decks : 
Alas ! how many of them all 

Are now but drifting wrecks ! 

To some, fierce matrimonial storms 

In blinding wrath have come ; 
Gaunt ice-bergs of adversity 

Have wildly shattered some ; 
Some have gone down into the deep, 

To ride the seas no more ; 
But few of all those many ships 

Now sail the waters o'er. 

Your bark has ever prospered been, 

Unharmed by tempest's blast, 
With not a rent in sail or shroud — 

No broken spar or mast. 
It has glided on round many a cape. 

And island of delight. 
Sometimes through gleaming caves, where hung 

The crystal stalactite ; — • 
Three hundred waning moons, till now 

The silver mine 's in sig-ht 1 



BITS OF THINGS 1 73 

The years that thus have swept you on 

To this anniversary June, 
Find your ship on stormless tide, 

In the silver light of noon. 
The daughter of your tender love 

To-day will leave your side : 
Enter this day another's bark, 

With another pilot-guide ! 

So to this anniversary June 

Now double interests cling : 
The Long Ago, and By and By, 

Meeting, clasp hands and sing. 
The waves of memory gently wash 

The shores of the bright To-Be, 
And the music of young, happy hearts 

Floats o'er a shining sea. 

Part II. 
To the Gathered Friends. 

How purely radiant is the world 

Upon one's bridal day ! 
Earthy breeze, and sky, in choral song, 

Seem holding hilary. 
She's starting on an unknown sea, — 

She sees no tempest there ; . , 



174 THREADS OF GOLD 

To her the sky has not a cloud, 

The world has not a care ; 
Not e'en a foe would wish her ill, 

No friend but bends to bless ; — 
Oh, life hath not a bonnier time 

For radiant happiness ! 

But brides, like albums, are o'erwhelmed 

With compliment display ; 
All gather round to kiss the bride. 

To wish her well, and say, — 
" May flowers be ever round thy path. 

Thy life one cloudless day ! " — 
And a thousand just such pretty words. 

And glossy, well meant speeches, 
Which real life soon proves but air. 

As all experience teaches, — 
While she, fond heart, who dreams of stars, 

And flights on angel's wing, 
Wakes up to find — she 's keeping house ! 

And life 's a prosy thing. 

For " roses springing in her path" 

She finds a room to sweep. 
Servants to scold, coal bills to pay, 

Household accounts to keep. 
The chimera soon floats away 

With all that vision pleasant ; 



BITS OF THINGS 1^5 

Romance may have the " angel's wings," 

But real living has n't. 
We will withdraw from fancy's flights 

For the plain and actual present. 



Part III. 
f To the Bridegroo7n and Bride of iS6S. 

A kindly wish we 'd breathe to you, 

Who on your new life start : 
Your life is practical, but if 

There 's sunshine in the heart, 
To duties plain, and common tasks, 

A brightness you '11 impart. 
And so our wish is not ^' undimmed. 

Uninterrupted bliss " — 
(Which ne'er was known, and ne'er will be. 

In a changeful world like this) — 
But that your hopes be steeled with will. 

Your dreams be bound to truth. 
That when age comes, your hearts will live 

In an atmosphere of truth ; 
That you will find from sorrow's cup 

The wine of joy oft flows ; 
That you will twine in one sweet braid 

Life's poetry and prose ; 



176 THREADS OF GOLD 

And the pleasant tasks of daily life, 

So practical and real, 
The heart-light shining o'er, transform 

To the beautiful ideal ! 



Part IV. 
Our Orison — then Our Parting. 

Father in heaven ! our hearts to-day 

O'erflow with grateful tears ; 
We ask Thy blessing on this band 

Yet five and twenty years, 
Till a gold and silver wedding month 

May happy come together ; 
And let Time's wing, in passing o'er. 

Drop many a joy-tipped feather. 

When age, with silver coronet, 

Has crowned the reverend locks. 
The gold-plumed birds of memory 

Will thither come in flocks, 
And, resting 'mid the ruins old, 

Where afl^ection's tendrils cling, 
Will sing a sweeter song of now 

Than we to-day can sing. 



BITS OF THINGS 



177 



Then when the '^ silver cord is loosed, 

And the golden bowl is broken," — 
When harps are rusted, songs are hushed, 

And farewell words all spoken, — 
Then in the golden palace, where 

The countless blessed throng. 
And the silver light is streaming clear. 

May you sing the endless song ! 



AFTER. 

Let it i a Katherine Vannah. 

^^1 'M sorry, and I hurried back 

.£ To tell you so," a sweet voice said ; 
But I was wounded then, and pride 
Forbade me e'en to turn my head. 

To-night I grieve and pray beside 
Her grave, yet cannot shed a tear ; 

Death parted us ere I could say 

The words which now she cannot hear. 

I know, I know she pardoned me — 

She was so gentle with me ever — 

Yet, all the same, wet, wistful eyes 

Do follow me, and will forever. 
12 



178 THREADS OF GOLD 

SINGERS OF THE MYSTIC CLIME. ^ 

James R. Murray. 

® SINGERS ofthe Mystic Clime, 
Ye are not far away ; 
For sweetly to my spirit's ear 

Come angel-songs to-day ; 
And gently o'er my weary heart — 

Storm-tossed and tempest-driven — 
Ye pour the balm of healing sounds, 
The melodies of heaven. 

Oh, not beyond the distant stars. 

The homes of those we love ; 
And never on a far-off shore. 

And never far above ; 
But ever present at my side 

The dear ones walk along, 
To guide my feet in surer ways. 

And cheer me with their song. 

I cannot touch their hands, I know ; 

Their forms I cannot see ; 
But still I hear their music sweet. 

And still they walk with me. 

1 By permission of the John Church Co. 



BITS OF THINGS 1 79 

I follow where their voices lead, 

While earthly sounds grow dim ; 
The dear Lord's messengers are they, 

To bring me up to Him. 



The following lines, composed the day before her death, were written 
by Mrs. Mary Sexton McCreary, as an expression of her unshaken faith 
in the Redeemer, and which she appropriately styled, — 

"THE LAST LEAF IN THE BOOK OF MY LIFE." 

DYING. 

SWING in the golden hammock of prayer, 
Fastened above the eternal stars ; 

Each shining mesh, so firm and fair, 
Hung on the promise's glittering bars. 
The sweetness of heaven and earth combine 
In glorifying this bed of mine ; 

Hearts, loving and saintly, have twisted each cord. 
And fastened the end with the gems of His Word ; 
And the dear, loving Jesus, so pure and so sweet. 
Has gathered the strands that were laid at His feet. 
And bears up my hammock of prayer. 

So, I quiet lie 

'Neath the Father's eye, 

Biding my hour to be called on high 
From my Christ-held hammock of prayer. 



l8o THREADS OF GOLD 

ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME? 

Margaret Elizabeth Sangster. 

ly ACH day when the glow of sunset 
rl)f Fades in the western sky, 
And the wee ones, tired of playing, 

Go tripping lightly by, 
I steal away from my husband. 

Asleep in his easy-chair. 
And watch from the open doorway 
Their faces fresh and fair. 

Alone in the dear old homestead 

That once was full of life, 
Ringing with girlish laughter. 

Echoing boyish strife, — 
We two are waiting together ; 

And oft, as the shadows come, 
With tremulous voice he calls me : 

"It is night ! are the children home?" 

"Yes, love ! " I answer him gently, 
" They 're all home, long ago ; " 
And I sing, in my quavering treble, 
A song so soft and low, 



BITS OF THINGS l8l 

Till the old man drops to slumber, 

With his head upon his hand, 
And I tell to myself the number 

Home in a better land. 

Home, where never a sorrow 

Shall dim their eyes with tears ! 
Where the smile of God is on them 

Through all the summer years ! 
I know, — yet my arms are empty 

That fondly folded seven, 
And the mother heart within me 

Is almost starved for heaven. 

Sometimes, in the dusk of evening, 

I only shut my eyes. 
And the children are all about me, 

A vision from the skies : 
The babes whose dimpled fingers 

Lost the way to my breast, 
And the beautiful ones, the angels. 

Passed to the world of the blest. 

With never a cloud upon them, 

I see their radiant brows : 
My boys that I gave to freedom, — 

The red sword sealed their vows ! 



1 82 THREADS OF GOLD 

In a tangled Southern forest, 
Twin brothers, bold and brave 

They fell ; and the flag they died for, 
Thank God ! floats o'er their grave. 

A breath, and the vision is lifted 

Away on wings of light. 
And again we two are together. 

All alone in the night. 
They tell me his mind is failing. 

But I smile at idle fears : 
He is only back with the children, 

In the dear and peaceful years. 

And stiU, as the summer sunset 

Fades away in the west. 
And the wee ones, tired of playing, 

Go trooping home to rest, 
My husband calls from his corner : 

"Say, love ! have the children come?" 
And I answer, with eyes uplifted, — 

"Yes, dear ! they are all at home ! " 



BITS OF THINGS 1 83 



MY BRIDGE. 

N the mystic region where Fancy's light 

Gleams over the waves of Thought's dee^D sea, 
I am building an airy bridge to-night, 

A bridge, dear friend, that may reach to thee ! 

Come forth on my bridge, dear heart, to-night ! 

Thy thought, like mine, can o'ermaster space ;- 
Our faces are hid from each other's sight, 

But our hearts can meet in a close embrace. 



OLD AGE. 

From The Friend. 

MHE golden grain, how beautiful ! 
P Waiting the reaper's hand ! 
Bowed it may be, yet is it not 
The glory of the land } 

Just so do aged Christians wait, 

With locks all silvery white. 
Shining as if a ray from heaven 

Had touched their brow with light. 



184 THREADS OF GOLD 

Old age ! I love thee ; — thou hast been 

A loving friend to me : 
Dear are thy trembling tones, and sweet 

Thy kindly sympathy. 

I love the gently beaming eye, 

The smiles so full of love. 
As if it heavenly converse held 

With holy ones above. 

I love to press the trembling hand, 

And hold it in my own. 
And think perhaps a prayer went up 

For me before the throne. 

Yes, age looks beautiful when lit 
With beams of grace divine. 

And oft from out its frail disguise 
An angel seems to shine. 

Thus did my own sweet mother wait. 
Ere yet she took her flight, — 

An angel trembling on the brink 
Of life, and love, and light. 

If, beautiful in holiness. 

Thou shinedst even here. 
How must thou, in the light of heaven, 

All glorious appear ! 



BITS OF THINGS 1 85 

AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA. 

Edwin Arnold. 

He that died at Azan sends 
This to coi77fort all his friends. 

PAITHFUL friends ! It lies, I know, 

i) Pale and white and cold as snow ; 

And ye say, " Abdallah 's dead ! " 

Weeping at his feet and head, 

I can see your falling tears, 

I can hear your sighs and prayers ; 

Yet I smile, and whisper this, — 

"/am not the thing ye kiss ; 

Cease your tears, and let it lie ; 

It was mine, — it is not I." 

Sweet friends ! What the women lave 

For its last bed of the grave. 

Is a tent which I am quitting. 

Is a garment no more fitting, 

Is a cage from which, at last. 

Like a hawk my soul hath passed. 

Love the inmate, not the room, — 

The wearer, not the garb, — the plume 

Of the falcon, not the bars 

Which kept him from these splendid stars. 



13 



1 86 THREADS OF GOLD 

Loving friends ! Be wise, and dry 
Straightway every weeping eye : 
What ye lift upon the bier 
Is not worth a wistful tear. 
'T is an empty sea-shell, — one 
Out of which the pearl is gone ; 
The shell is broken, it lies there ; 
The pearl, the all, the soul, is here. 
'T is an earthen jar, whose lid 
Allah sealed, the while it hid 
That treasure of his treasury, 
A mind that loved him : let it lie ! 
Let the shard be earth's once more, 
vSince the gold shines in his store ! 

Allah glorious ! Allah good ! 
Now thy world is understood ; 
Now the long, long wonder ends ; 
Yet ye weep, my erring friends. 
While the man whom ye call dead. 
In unspoken bliss instead. 
Lives, and loves you — lost, 't is true, 
By such light as shines for you ; 
But in light ye cannot see 
Of unfulfilled felicity, 
In enlarging paradise. 
Lives a life that never dies ! 



BITS OF THINGS 1 87 

Farewell, friends ! Yet not farewell ; 
Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell ; 
I am gone before your face, 
A moment's time, a little space. 
When ye come where I have stepped, 
Ye will wonder why ye wept ; 
Ye will know, by wise Jove taught. 
That here is all, and there is naught. 
Weep awhile, if ye are fain, — 
Sunshine still must follow rain ; 
Only not at death, — for death, 
Now I know, is that first breath 
Which our souls draw when we enter 
Life, which is of all life centre. 

Be ye certain all seems love, 

Viewed from Allah's throne above : 

Be ye stout of heart, and come 

Bravely onward to your home ! 

La Allah ilia Allah I yea ! 

Thou love divine ! Thou love alway ! 

He that died at Azan gave 
• This to those who made his grave. 



1 88 THREADS OF GOLD 



A FRAGMENT. 

yo/in G. Whittier. 

WHEN over dizzy heights we go, 
One soft hand bh'nds our eyes ; 
The other leads us safe and slow — 
O love of God most wise ! 

We know not where His islands lift 

Their fronded palms in air, — 
We only know we cannot drift 

Beyond His love and care. 



GOOD-BYE. 



Shakespeare. 



Here's my hand. 
And mine, with my heart in 't. And now, 
Farewell ! 




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